Breathless
by Firestar9mm
Summary: It wasn't like he and Scarlett didn't have their own secret code.
1. New Boots and Numbers On A Chain

**Author's Introduction:**

Since September 2010, I've been clinically diagnosed with a sleep disorder, and slimming down to 117 pounds did not cure it (although it did wonders for my self-esteem and I can now wear some pretty bangin' outfits, which was a nice consolation prize since my doctor basically scratched his head and said "Darn, I thought that would work"). This means my sleeping patterns are totally unreliable—I can sleep for fifteen hours one night, then be up for two days straight, or only be able to sleep in catnaps for two or three hours at a clip before being up for twenty hours. This is not at all fun—losing large blocks of time makes me want to cry but being unable to sleep for hours on end is equally upsetting, and if you have a day job, like I do, having to be productive from 9-5 can be torture depending on how much sleep I have or have not gotten.

Moreover, the hours between 3 and 5 AM are a forsaken time of night. _No one_ is awake. It can feel like the whole world has disappeared and not left a forwarding address. Sometimes I'll go wander to the 7-11 or cross the highway and wait for the sun to rise. Watching the cars go by or buying plasticy sandwiches at the all-night convenience store reminds me that other people are still around, because you can walk for those two hours and not see a single living soul otherwise.

This story was born from those hours, from the Joes keeping me company in my own underground bunker and making me smile when it felt like no one else in the entire _world_ was awake. It did not begin as an ensemble piece, but I sure am glad it ended up that way.

Usual disclaimers apply here—constructive criticism is absolutely welcome, but the operative word there is _constructive_. There's no arguing that certain things differ between comic canon and animated canon (personally, I'm a fan of the 1980s Sunbow series, with some 1980s comic kitsch thrown in for flavor), which, in a moment of lovely rarity, makes _all _of it canon depending on what incarnation of the series you're going by. So play nice, guys—there's plenty of room for us all on the field for once. If you don't like what I've written, don't waste all our time arguing with me over accents or pairings—tell me something useful I can improve on.

**Disclaimer:** We're able to read about our beloved Joes due to the intellectual awesomeness of Mr. Larry Hama, and the franchising superpowers of Hasbro (thanks guys!), and I wouldn't dream of infringing on their copyrights for my own financial gain; this is done purely for entertainment purposes.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter One: New Boots and Numbers On a Chain<span>**

_All good soldiers crack like boulders  
>The sun climbs up to a razor<br>Violins, new boots, and numbers on a chain  
>All good soldiers<br>All good soldiers  
>All good soldiers fall in line as they march and shout<br>All good soldiers are a spectacle, marching and singing  
>Will go anywhere the President says<br>Because our President believes in God  
>Like all good soldiers should<em>

**(Bad Religion, _All Good Soldiers_)**

* * *

><p>The untrained observer would have assumed by her facial expression that Scarlett was angry when she jumped out of the Humvee, but the trained observer knew relief when he saw it. She reached back to give her teammate a hand—Snake Eyes had bandages wrapped around his midsection and was certainly moving like his ribs were bruised—but as soon as his feet were on solid ground Scarlett wound up and tried to sock her companion in the arm, causing the Joes assembled in the garage to murmur and Clutch to whistle in appreciative, amused horror. Only Scarlett stood any chance of doing anything like that to the commando without being vaporized on the spot; still, being Snake Eyes' closest friend seemed akin to being friends with a semi-tame panther. It was gorgeous and deadly and could still absolutely eat you if you provoked it.<p>

"_Jerk_," the redhead growled, blazing tail of hair lashing with her abrupt movements. She wasn't really trying with the punch, so the commando blocked it easily, palming her curled fist in his large gloved hand and shoving her gently away. When he released her, his hands flashed up between them and began moving rapidly, explaining himself.

Scarlett was too keyed up to even bother with sign language. She went for him again, darting past his signing hands to shove him like a child throwing a temper tantrum. "Charlie Mike my _ass_. You know better than—don't look at me like that! If I had said Charlie Mike would _you_ have?"

How Scarlett knew what look Snake Eyes was giving her was a mystery; the commando's mask was in place, making his face as unreadable as usual. Still, the redhead never wavered, as though she could see behind the mask and what she found there annoyed her.

The commando fell silent, hands motionless, and Scarlett celebrated her victory with a sneer. "Right, so it's OK for _you_ to play hero but not me." When Snake Eyes began signing again she cut him off. "Save it. I hope Doc uses stinging iodine and I hope everything hurts like hell."

When she turned her back on him, indicating the discussion was closed, the commando gave himself away, but just barely—his shoulders shook almost imperceptibly. Without turning, Scarlett stopped her walk and raised her eyes to heaven in the classic expression of praying for patience. "Snake, I swear to _God_ if you don't stop laughing at me I will make sparring with me a living nightmare until your ribs heal."

Snake Eyes loped off towards the infirmary without another sign, but the trained observer—Duke—got the feeling he was still smiling. The master sergeant also began praying for patience, since he was the one who was going to have to debrief everyone once all the wounds were stitched up, and it was already looking like the mission had been a shitshow. Eyes hooding in fatigue and exasperation, Scarlett turned to him and jerked a thumb in the direction Snake Eyes had taken off in. "Charlie Mike," she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Duke couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from tucking up into something that was almost a smile. Scarlett's eyes blazed at the sight. "Don't _you_ start. If there's one thing I hate, it's being found amusing when I'm angry."

He was tempted to tell her that if that were the case, she should stop _being_ so amusing when she was angry, but he knew that would be like dousing a fire with gasoline. Forcing his facial expression back into sobriety, he asked, "Were you injured?"

Scarlett had no obvious injuries, but she was looking a bit banged-up—her thermals were torn over one pale shoulder and there were some frightening dings on her breastplate that spoke to its sturdiness. She touched a shallow cut over her eyebrow. Blood was drying in strings on her pale skin, but the cut was already beginning to scab. "Nothing to speak of. I'm all right."

"Glad to hear it," Duke said, motioning for her to follow him. "_Someone _has to tell me what happened out there, so if you're not hurt, you're on deck."

"No, I'll do it," Scarlett sighed, rubbing at a smudge of dirt beneath her eye and following her C.O. out of the garage. "Although I'm sure you'd get a funnier story from the ones who think today was a big _joke_," she called back over her shoulder, as if Snake Eyes could still hear her.

Clutch elbowed the nearest Joe—Breaker—as they wandered out and said, "How does she know he's laughing? How does she _do_ that?" The communications expert's response was to shrug and pop his gum.

Duke ignored the murmurs around them as he escorted Scarlett to his office for debriefing. He could sense several pairs of eyes looking askance at him; he took a perverse pleasure in confounding the hell out of the busybodies who treated the Pit like a living soap opera. The constant question in their curious gazes was obvious, and if he had cared to acknowledge it, the answer was no, it didn't overly bother him that the redhead and the ninja spoke in a language only they could understand.

It wasn't like he and Scarlett didn't have their own secret code.

* * *

><p>For a military installation, the Pit wasn't the most professional in the world, but General Hawk didn't have a problem with his soldiers wearing Stetson cowboy hats, full face masks, or having an insensible length of brightly colored hair as long as they got the job done.<p>

Still, sometimes they treated the duty roster like it was the cut list for the high school cheerleading squad.

"Oh please, oh please, oh please…_damn it_." Lady Jaye tapped a key and watched the cursor scroll across the screen to reveal her name. She let her head hit the console with a _thunk_, then thumped it a few more times for good measure.

Scarlett, who'd been on her way to check the roster herself, chuckled as she approached the terminal Lady Jaye was using. "Awww. Didn't get the part?"

"No, I _did_. They're sending me on the street crime detail." Jaye's pertly pretty nose scrunched up, as though she were expecting a blow to the face.

Scarlett laughed harder. "And how much do they pay babysitters an hour these days?"

Jaye turned a vengeful gaze to Scarlett, pointing at the screen. "Laugh it up, O'Hara. You're coming with me."

This announcement knocked the smile right off Scarlett's face. "No way. Let me see that." Leaning over Lady Jaye to brace both hands on the console, she read her own name on the roster. "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding."

Lady Jaye tapped a few more keys, pulling up a video feed. "Behold, our future."

The footage was from a local news program that had been covering the city's recent political debates. Rather than focusing on the candidates' platforms, however, they'd scented blood the minute that some local gang members had started protesting at mayoral candidate Robert Harper's events, jeering at his campaign to "restore law and order" and committing petty crimes in full view of the authorities. The station Lady Jaye had tuned to had some great shots of a riot that had broken out at the last debate—at least until a street hood in torn jeans and a zebra-striped bandana had swung his smiley chain into the camera. Not all of the protestors were gang members—they'd managed to swing some of the lower- and middle-class citizens' opinions to their side—but many of them seemed barely more than kids acting tough, too old for their ages.

Folding her arms sulkily, Scarlett frowned. "As much as I think what those punks are doing is just a rather annoying cry for attention, I can't protect that guy with a clear conscience. I think he's a gutless wuss."

Lady Jaye smirked. "So you voted for Greenway last term?"

Scarlett snorted. "I was dangling by my wrists in a Cobra trap that day. I didn't vote at all."

* * *

><p>Years of meditation, Snake Eyes decided, were still no match for a sensory deprivation tank.<p>

Out here, just outside the mouth of the Pit, there was weather, temperature, noise. No other humans were currently present, but to a man who sometimes felt so centered that he imagined he could hear grains of sand shifting and small reptiles scuttling to their dens over the scrub, even a quiet night seemed deafening.

Opening his eyes, Snake thought back to his last experience in such a tank, the controlled temperature and the heavy silence blurring the lines of his body until he was nothing but pure thought. Relying so heavily on his heightened senses for so many years was a constant low-level worry for the commando; every injury reminded him of his own limitations, even something as innocuous as being unable to stretch an arm over his head without aggravating a bruised rib. That particular injury was now weeks old and had long since healed, but he didn't like that the world was nothing but his perception of it, his sight, his hearing, the pressure of things against his skin. In the tank, there was no sight, no sound, no pressure, no _world_, and like meditation, he always felt that he emerged stronger than before.

He would have liked an opportunity to do so before deploying on tomorrow's detail, but there was no time. Still, he didn't have to like it. There was something bothering him about this assignment, which had already become a joke around the Pit for seeming far too easy for the unlucky Joes who'd managed to pull it.

When things seemed far too easy, Snake Eyes reflected, that was usually when ribs got bruised, when fire started and skin blistered. When people got hurt.

He wasn't afraid of pain; he'd seen a lot of it and recognized it as vital, just another facet of the sensory map that was still his strongest weapon, but it wasn't just his pain that was possible here. Isolated as he was sometimes, the commando couldn't help being fond of his comrades-in-arms, and the pain that had tattooed his body in scars and still flickered behind his eyelids on the worst nights was something he wouldn't have wished on even his fiercest foe, let alone his friends.

Pain was a possibility, and one that would not be ignored.

The commando rotated his neck, feeling the bones pop, and uncurled from his lotus position, relishing the fact that the movements caused no pain anymore, now that he was healed and ready again.

It brought a smile to his face. Pain was a possibility, but not a certainty. He mightn't be able to erase it, but to preempt it and force it into retreat—that, he could do.

He would not be ignored either.

Duke never even tried to sneak up on the commando. Other Joes sometimes gave it a shot, but it was mostly in fun—Snake always heard them coming and never humored them by pretending to let them get the drop on him; he had a reputation to uphold, after all, and he couldn't lie and say it didn't amuse him to prove that all the stories about the legendary ninja badass were absolutely true. The master sergeant wasn't made of stone; even he indulged in some of the games played around the Pit to keep the super soldiers stationed there from losing their minds, but when it came to his dealings with Snake Eyes, Duke was respectfully businesslike.

"All in for tomorrow?" he asked as soon as he knew he had Snake Eyes' attention.

The commando nodded once.

Duke's eyes held a hint of amusement even if he didn't smile. "Go ahead and say it, everyone else already has."

After a moment's hesitation, Snake Eyes decided it was safe to indulge in the general opinion and put two fingers out in a _v_, tapping it back against his brow lightly. {_Stupid_.}

"I know, but it doesn't matter. I want full marks out there. Understood?"

Another nod. Like the rest of the Joes assigned to the detail, Snake Eyes thought the whole thing was kid's stuff, but he wasn't going to question the order. In the grand scheme of things, it was inconsequential, something to be briefly irritated by, then forget. They would complete their mission and return to the Pit. It was what they did, after all.

"Good." Turning to continue his rounds, Duke turned back as an afterthought. "Cheer up, Snake. At least you won't come back with half a dozen injuries this time."

The commando snorted, shaking his head. Putting a flat hand to his mouth, he extended it down toward the master sergeant, making sure the movement conveyed the necessary sarcasm. {_Thanks_.} Extending his thumb and pinky and both hands, he brought them down from his shoulders. He pointed to himself, then clawed his hand and brushed his middle finger up his chest to tap it against his chin. {_Now I feel lucky_.}

"Good," the master sergeant repeated as he turned again to head back into the shelter of the Pit. "Take that with you tomorrow."

* * *

><p>Most of the Joes shared Scarlett's opinion on Harper, but G.I. Joe didn't get to be choosy about who they protected. Still, the handful of Joes assigned to the detail were unhappy about their lot and weren't afraid to wax poetic about it.<p>

" 'Do the impossible and make it look easy'," Zap grumbled, pressing a button on the remote control in the lounge and switching the channel to the news. "I'm guessing the impossible is to make it look like we actually _care_ what a bunch of local yahoos are doing! Isn't there a guerilla war or a political assassination we can cover somewhere instead—something we're more suited to?"

Beach Head, who was calculating a trick shot at the pool table, looked up with a smirk. Cover Girl, who was playing stripes, looked on as the drill sergeant teased, "Don't feel bad, Zap. Maybe next week there'll be somethin' you're more suited to, like gettin' a cat out of a tree."

Zap rolled his eyes. "At least going on this damn detail means I don't have to run PT tomorrow."

"I wouldn't speak too soon," Spirit remarked amusedly, leaning over the back of the sofa Zap was currently occupying. The two Joes watched more news footage of the gang destroying the bandshell at one of Harper's recent appearances. "Something makes me feel like a political assassination may not be too far off!" the tall man chuckled.

Zap snorted. "Please. In order for it to be a political assassination, that guy'd have to stand a chance of getting elected."

Spirit gestured to the television screen. "Thanks to the efforts of the local misguided youth, Robert Harper has become a far more attractive candidate to those who wish only for peace and quiet. It would be foolish to count him out, especially now."

Zap frowned, tossing the remote aside. "Yeah. You'd think those punks would have figured that out, but there's no accounting for brains, is there? For all we know, Harper's hired those creeps to make _himself_ look better."

"In the darkness the stone becomes the buffalo," Spirit intoned sagely. "In daylight all is as it should be."

There was a minute of silence before Zap hurled a sofa pillow at the other Joe, prompting laughter from his comrade. "Aw, admit it, you get that stuff out of fortune cookies!" he accused, which only made Spirit laugh harder. Cover Girl joined in and even Beach Head hid a smile as he lined up his next shot.

This exchange was interrupted by Duke, who was doing his version of a bed check. Part of the reason Duke had such a good rapport with his men was that he checked up on them often enough that no one felt pressure when there was nothing new to report, establishing a constant, steady presence without micromanaging them. Keeping some of these checkups unofficial kept the soldiers at ease; right now, he took a seat beside Zap and propped his boots up on the lounge table. "Talk to me," he requested. Zap motioned to the television set, which was still tuned to the news.

"This ain't gonna be nothin', Duke," Zap said. "It's just a bunch of punks making trouble. What's the worst that could happen, he loses his election?"

"Don't ask what's the worst that could happen," Duke warned idly. "Chances are if you ask you'll find out."

Zap snorted. "You worry too much, Top. This guy couldn't die if he tried."

"It's not just him I'm worried about," the master sergeant said pointedly. "I don't care how stupid it makes you feel, you treat this detail as seriously as you would invading a Cobra base." Glancing at Spirit, he added, "Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Zap didn't look happy, but he wasn't about to question his orders. Spirit nodded, looking unperturbed—they might have been discussing the weather—but that wasn't unusual for the tracker.

"Good." Getting up, Duke glanced around the lounge. "Anyone seen Scarlett?"

"She was here earlier," Zap said, finally giving up and changing the station to a much friendlier wrestling match, "but she said something about getting a workout in since we're not running PT tomorrow."

"You all ought to be doin' that," Beach Head rumbled from the billiard table, sinking the 8-ball. "It's a mission, not a vacation."

Cover Girl snorted, circling the sofa to take the seat Duke had vacated. "Yeah. If I exercise tonight, can _I_ get out of PT?"

Beach Head glared. "Nice try, Barbiedoll. Just f'r that, yer getting extra reps."

Cover Girl's lipsticked mouth twisted around a near-silent obscenity as she settled on the cushion.

"I heard that," Beach Head called after her, and she turned towards him all set to snarl the second one right to his face.

"Knock it off," Duke warned idly. This argument was an old one. Half the time he was pretty sure they were just doing it out of habit. "What about Lady Jaye?"

Zap and Spirit exchanged glances. The former couldn't stop a smirk.

Duke arched a brow. "Something funny?"

"Lady Jaye's getting a workout too, Top." Zap gave up and grinned.

The meaning was clear. Duke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "All right, I didn't hear that."

"Lighten up, Duke." Cover Girl shrugged. "It's not like they're not getting the job done."

"Did I stutter?" Duke said, frowning at the tank jockey. "Not the time or the place for this discussion."

It was Beach Head who snorted, laying his cue stick on the billiard table. "Something sticking in your craw, Top?" he asked pointedly.

"No." Duke narrowed his eyes at the drill sergeant. "You know, Beach, there's room on the street crime detail for one more."

Beach Head spent far too much time terrorizing Joes and frightening greenshirts to death to be intimidated by this threat. Placidly, he said, "It'd be like droppin' a nuclear warhead on an anthill, Duke. Better save me for the heavy liftin'."

Pointing at Zap and Spirit, he repeated, "Be ready at 0600, and remember what I said." The two Joes nodded their assent, although their immediate turn of attention back to the televised wrestling match wasn't a comfort to their C.O.

As Duke stalked out of the lounge, Beach Head had the last word. "Scarlett's probably in the gym." When Duke stopped to take this information in, the drill sergeant added pointedly, "If you're lookin' for her."

This time it was Duke who bit down on the obscenity. He was better at that than Cover Girl, but not better than Beach Head's hearing.

* * *

><p>Rebuttoning her shirt shouldn't have been taking as long as it was, but every time she got to the top button, Flint had started undoing the bottom ones again. He'd been preoccupied with the necessary adjustments to his own clothes for the most part, but as soon as he'd been free to wind his arms around her again he'd been impeding her progress. She batted his hands away idly, but he undid another button and slid a hand in to knead her breast, as if they hadn't just been passionately entwined a few moments before. Smirking, Lady Jaye attempted to button the blouse over his questing hand. Arching his wrist, he popped that button too, brushing his lips against her neck.<p>

"Stop or I'll just tear them off." The playful threat vibrated against her skin, his voice a hungry, bass growl.

"You wouldn't dare," she purred, threading her fingers through the hair at his nape. "Not after the last time."

He mouthed her collarbone but didn't respond, which was as good as admitting she was right. The last time, the buttons had skittered all over the place. She'd only managed to find three, and there had been no way to repair them in the gym anyway. She'd had to safety-pin her shirt closed and get back to her quarters as fast as possible to switch it for a new one, hoping to hell she didn't run into Duke or Hawk on the way. She'd chewed Flint out for that one and had avoided him for three days, both as punishment for him and to keep a low profile in case her wardrobe malfunction had been spotted. She'd thought he'd learned his lesson, but his fingers twitched at her lapels and she knew he was considering it. "Down, boy," she warned teasingly.

"There's probably a needle and thread in here," Flint offered. "Somewhere."

"In here" was the base laundry, and while it wasn't as comfortable or spacious as the gym, Lady Jaye had seen Scarlett heading that way in workout clothes and they'd had to come up with a Plan B. Plan B had involved a folded stack of towels beneath her head, a cold floor, some quick adjustments to clothing and a lot of improvisation, but it had worked out pretty well until she hadn't been able to redress. Flint's fingers tensed at her lapels again, telegraphing his intent as clearly as the insistent press of his body against hers.

"If you rip them, _you're_ crawling around and finding them all, then _you're_ sewing them back on," she said flatly.

That did it; Flint let go of her lapels and nuzzled her breasts with a groan. "Ever consider working for Cobra, honey? You're evil."

She stroked his hair again, sighing with pleasure at his caress. "I've got to get back. I'm on tomorrow."

Flint snorted, nose brushing against her collarbone as he angled for a kiss. "Please. The street crime detail? We could send Shipwreck on that one by himself, it's so ridiculous. I keep waiting for someone to yell 'April Fools' on that one."

Jaye tilted her head to give his questing lips better access to her neck. "That makes two of us, but it's not a joke to the brass. Street crime has skyrocketed in the city thanks to this election, and the local police have got their hands full. Colonel Sharpe's been asked to send in a unit for damage control."

"Right, because it'll be such a P.R. boost for G.I. Joe when we step on the police force's toes. They'll love that." He said the last with an eyeroll. "They're not even getting a full unit. They're getting a ninja, a redhead, a tracker, an artillery expert, a wolf, an eagle, and the most beautiful woman in our country's armed forces."

Jaye smacked the back of his head playfully. "You make us sound like a bunch of action figures."

Flint chuckled, drawing back to smile at her. "I'd buy an action figure of you in a heartbeat, Lady Jaye. Put it right on my desk so I could look at it every day."

Shrugging him gently off her, Jaye chuckled. "You've got the real thing, and you can look at me tomorrow, as soon as I get back from this damned detail. Now I've got to get some sleep. I'm feeling rather tired out all of a sudden anyway." She winked.

"You're welcome." Getting to his feet, Flint offered her a hand up, pulling her to him for a fierce kiss before glancing around. "Have you got my hat? Did we get all the clothes we came in with?"

Lady Jaye wrinkled her nose, cuddling a little closer to the warrant officer and pulling his cover out of his back pocket to show him. "Promise me we can do this in a hotel again soon. It doesn't have to be five-star, but I'm tired of five…_sock_."

* * *

><p>Something <em>was<em> sticking in his craw, Duke thought irritably, but he was going to do his best to swallow it. Flint and Lady Jaye were only a secret in the loosest sense of the word, and despite his position he had no interest in jamming them up. If Flint and Jaye were happy and it wasn't affecting their performance in the field, he'd be damned if he was going to take that away from them. There were some things you couldn't control, regulations or no regulations—he knew that far too well himself, and it was that which made him grind his teeth in defiance of years of learned protocol. But he'd had practice biting it back.

He'd be damned if anyone took what _he_ had, either, and if this was the only way to protect it, then he'd do what he had to do.

Scarlett was indeed in the gym. Not wanting to disturb her in the middle of her workout, Duke lingered in the doorway, watching her balance gracefully on her hands, doing vertical push-ups without the aid of the wall. He had to smile at her; Scarlett worried constantly about her upper-body strength, something that seemed unnecessary when she could punch a hole in a wooden plank from a handspan away, but she worked tirelessly to ensure that her upper body was as dependable in battle as her visibly strong legs.

Completing her set, Scarlett rolled fluidly down to the floor, long legs sweeping to either side of her in a split. Walking her hands forward, she stretched her torso out, flattening herself against the floor, arms reaching forward. Her eyes, which had been closed in concentration, flickered open and narrowed on the floor in front of her, then shot wide.

The redhead always moved like chain lightning, but it took less than a second for her to go from the floor to the ceiling. What had seconds ago been poetry in progress was now frantic scrambling for purchase as she clung to the overhead fluorescent light fixture, which was difficult when she had one fist jammed against her mouth to stifle a scream. The offending monster, oblivious to the havoc it was wreaking, crawled across the gym floor, each of its eight legs seemingly furrier than the one before and none of its compound eyes looking up at the woman it had inadvertently terrified into defying gravity.

Duke felt mean for wanting to chuckle. If any greenshirts were around to see this, Scarlett's reputation for badassery would suffer a considerable hit.

He was about to enter the room and rescue her from the eight-legged critter, willing to suffer the wrath of her insisting she wasn't a damsel in distress if it meant he could indulge in a laugh at the ridiculous situation. However, his services weren't needed—the click of claws on the floor announced the arrival of a beast with half as many legs. Duke's mouth bent in a smile as the animal ambled past him; the Pit could be a damn zoo at times.

Scarlett turned her head slowly, red ponytail dangling perpendicular to the floor, neck at a painful angle while the rest of her faced the ceiling, giving her a limited view of the floor below. "Whichever canine that is, there's an agent requesting assistance up here!" she quipped, and Duke had to bite down on a laugh.

Timber was happy to oblige; the wolf advanced on the spider, which tried to scuttle away, but a few long strides of the wolf's legs and a crunch of his jaws made short work of it. Tilting his head up towards the redhead, he gave a friendly yip.

"All clear?" Scarlett turned her head back to center, then inhaled as if steeling herself. Both the wolf and the master sergeant observing were treated to the sight of her pushing off the ceiling, body twisting like a cat in midair so that she landed on all fours, distributing the shock of the impact evenly across her body to avoid injury. Glancing around quickly, she saw that the spider was history, and allowed herself to grin as she straightened to a kneeling position. Timber's claws were silent on the padded floor as he circled the redhead, yipping again as he sat before her. Duke got the amused feeling that if he could have saluted, he would have.

Cheerfully, Scarlett ruffled Timber's coarse headfur, stroked one of his pointed ears. "Sure and aren't you my hero," she drawled, hugging him around the neck. Timber thrust his head further into the embrace, rough tongue flickering out to brush the redhead's ear. She laughed. "Well, thank you. I love you, too."

"Bold move, kissing the lady in front of me." The words came out before he could stop them, and he instantly regretted not keeping silent. When she looked up at him in amused surprise, he walked to the where she knelt, hoping to salvage the situation by meeting it head-on. "Ms. Riding Hood," he said, nodding professionally at her, then at Timber. "Big Bad."

Scarlett grinned. "Evening, Top Kick." Stroking through Timber's fur, she smiled at the animal. "Looks like we're busted, Timber. Guess I love you so much I just can't keep it a secret anymore!"

The wolf thrust his head against her once more, cheek rubbing hers, tongue flicking out.

"You're risking a court martial for fraternization, Timber," Duke said to the wolf in an exaggerated tone of mock disapproval. Intellectually, he knew he was acting childish, but he wasn't sure if it were Scarlett's words that had rankled him, or just the fact that she could say whatever she wanted to the animal if she felt so inclined.

"I'm just overemotional," Scarlett teased, putting a bit of Southern honey in the end of her sentence as she stood up. "He just saved my life and I was ever so grateful."

"What was it?" Duke asked, pretending he hadn't been watching the entire time. "Spider?"

"Affirmative. But Timber took care of it," she said, and like an audio cue, the wolf coughed, a furry, spindly leg dropping from his jaws.

Duke wrinkled his nose. "Way to earn your pay, Timber."

The wolf's jaws snapped, a sound between a yip and a bark issuing from his throat.

Scarlett laughed. "He says 'Yo, Joe'."

Timber pushed his nose against Scarlett's hand, then loped out of the room.

"How do you know just what he said?" Duke teased, keeping his tone light.

She shrugged. "He's easy to read. He's…honest. Honest in the way people aren't."

Her tone wasn't accusatory, but the acidic feeling that had gripped him upon finding her there compelled him to defend himself anyway. "Some people can't be honest," he said evenly. "Even if they want to."

Scarlett's smile was almost impossibly sweet. "I know."

"Then again, you do seem to have a talent for charming lone wolves." He arched a brow.

The smile never wavered. "No such thing in our Pit. Wolves are very social animals, Duke. Every movement is a signal. Dominance, defense, greeting. See what he did just now?" Scarlett turned her head and indicated her cheek. "Nose-pushing and licking is friendly. It's a language. Communication. Just like this." She held a hand between them to indicate how they were currently conversing.

"Just like this…" She showed him a closed fist with her knuckles facing him, thumb pointed upward, then crossed her thumb before her fingers, finally making a right angle with her thumb and forefinger, spelling _A-S-L._

"…Just like this." She brought her hand up in a smart salute, then lowered it, her eyes on him.

He nodded. "I hear you."

"You hear me," she repeated gently. "Are you listening to me?"

Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Shaking his head at himself rather than her, he said, "You always seem to know what to say. Is that a talent for communication, or charm?"

Her own lips quirked upward slightly. "I don't know, Duke. Do you feel charmed?"

Jaw tightening, Duke forced brusqueness into his voice as he turned to walk away from her. "Get some sleep, Scarlett. You're on the street crime detail tomorrow, and I know everyone thinks this is a big joke, but I expect you all in top form out there regardless."

She laughed, his harsh tone rolling off her back. "You're refreshingly honest too, Top."

It had been meant to cheer him, and it worked; he half turned to look at her, his voice softening without his conscious control. "You going to be all right for tomorrow?"

"Affirmative," she answered, sketching a mock salute over her smile. "All systems go."

Duke turned his back on her for good as he tossed his answer over his shoulder. "Roger that," was all he said.

* * *

><p>It was a sleepy, unhappy handful of Joes that gathered for deployment the next morning, but Duke was pleased to see that they were all in attendance and properly armed, as though they were embarking on a far more serious mission.<p>

"Good morning," he greeted them, and was further pleased by their firm answer of "_Sir_," as they snapped to attention. Realizing he might have ridden them a little hard the night before, he smiled. "All right, quit yanking my chain, you five. At ease."

There were a few poorly hidden smiles at his response to their mock severity, except for Snake Eyes'—his was, as always, hidden perfectly.

Duke watched his Joes as they boarded the five sturdy motorcycles they'd be traveling on. Freedom perched on the handlebar of the cycle Spirit was astride, waiting to take wing when they began to move; Snake Eyes nodded benevolently as Timber climbed into the sidecar on the commando's bike. "All set to deal with the angry protesters?" Duke asked, allowing himself a grin of his own.

Lady Jaye seemed as unhappy about the detail as Zap and Snake Eyes had been; she shoved a javelin into her quiver with unnecessary force and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we've got hippie-strength pepper spray."

Snake Eyes' shoulders shook almost imperceptibly, and Scarlett's smile was rueful. "Punk-ass kids," the redhead muttered, hefting her crossbow idly. "How many points do I get for spitting one of them through the calf?"

Zap grinned. "How about five if they're stationary, ten if they're on the run?"

Scarlett smiled silkily, and it was the smile of a predator. "Too easy," she purred, closing one eye as she sighted down the crossbow idly.

Duke's smile faded into near-invisibility; it tugged at the corner of his mouth while he forced severity back into the gaze he leveled on her. "You're going in there to defend, not to do the OK Corral," he reminded her. "Understood?"

She treated him to an exaggerated pout. "Aw, Top, you never let me have any fun."

Feeling bad for the unlucky handful of Joes assigned to a detail even he considered laughable, he disguised his pity with a look of disapproval. "Complain all you want _after_ the mission's complete."

Scarlett's lips quirked upward in the barest smirk. "All systems go."

He held the disapproving gaze on her for one more second, eyes narrowing, then answered, "Roger that. Now move out."

Lady Jaye arched a brow at Scarlett as the redhead adjusted the headset she'd be using to communicate with headquarters while in transit. "All systems go?" she laughed. "Maybe you're taking this a little _too_ seriously, Scarlett."

"Not at all," the redhead answered coolly, cracking the throttle on her bike.

Duke had to raise his voice to issue his farewell over the roar of engines coming awake. "Ten points if they're stationary, fifteen if they're on the run," he decreed as the motorcade moved smoothly away. "Bring me back a hippie pelt or two."

They responded with a sincerely enthusiastic "Yo, Joe!"

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

This isn't the first story in which I've opened a chapter with a lyric from _**All Good Soldiers**_,my favorite Bad Religion song, but it's oddly apropos, don't you think?

**Charlie Mike: **NATO alphabet for "C.M.", _Charlie Mike _stands for "continue mission". I feel like this is a hugely common theme with Snake Eyes—it seems like every five minutes he's getting thrashed and trying to get the rest of the Joes to continue on. IDW _G.I. Joe #1_ he's almost taken out immediately; _Sicilian Defense_ he's unconscious in the back of a transport for the majority of the issue before coming back around just in time to save the day; even as early as Sunbow's _The M.A.S.S. Device_ he's sending his team on without him so they don't get nailed by Cobra's radioactive trap. I find it oddly endearing; Snake Eyes would never leave a man behind, so why is _he_ always telling everyone to go on without him?

Speaking of our beloved ultimate ninja badass, Snake Eyes can indeed be seen in the Columbia University lab's **sensory deprivation tank** in _G.I. Joe #2_, the classic issue entitled _Panic At the North Pole_.

As I said earlier, I'm a huge fan of the 1980s Sunbow animated series and it's with that in mind that I try to write these characters I love so much, with some 1980s comic kitsch thrown in for flavor. In case it wasn't immediately obvious, this fic is based around the events of the episode _**Cobra's Candidate**_. The **smiley chain**, while not pre-eminent among the tools of war, is a chain with a lock on the end that's used as a street weapon since it isn't illegal to carry one, especially if you own a bike or a motorcycle. They are extremely dangerous and can do a lot of damage, which makes me think Snake Eyes is right to have a bad feeling about this silly-sounding detail.

For those who don't know, **Top Kick** is military slang for a First Sergeant. **"Do the impossible and make it look easy" **is a quote from the classic _G.I. Joe #1_, originally said by Hawk when he gives the Joes their mission to rescue the captive Dr. Burkhart from Cobra.

I'm not sure what Lady Jaye and Flint should be more ashamed of in this chapter—their completely inappropriate choice of hiding places, or breaking the fourth wall. It probably won't be the first time they'll do either in this story.

In the gym, there's a reference to Scarlett having a phobia of **spiders**, which is a nod to the episode _Cobra's Creatures_. There's also an appearance by my predictably favorite four-footed Joe, **Timber** the timber wolf (you have to respect a wolf who'll jump out of a plane into the arms of his jet-pack-wearing ninja pal). When Duke arrives on the scene, he refers to Scarlett and Timber as **Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf**, although unlike their fairy tale counterparts, Scarlett and Timber would happily team up to wreak havoc on Cobra. Also, Scarlett fingerspells **"A-S-L"** to Duke, which stands for "American Sign Language". My mother knew it along with a good buddy of mine who still does; I'm trying my best to learn.

**Next chapter: **Everyone who thought the street crime detail would be a piece of cake is going to be kicking themselves—before they start kicking ass.


	2. Uncle Sam Does The Best He Can

**Author's Introduction:**

******Disclaimer:****** We're able to read about our beloved Joes due to the intellectual awesomeness of Mr. Larry Hama, and the franchising superpowers of Hasbro (thanks guys!), and I wouldn't dream of infringing on their copyrights for my own financial gain; this is done purely for entertainment purposes.

Before I start, I wanted to say thanks to everyone who reviewed! It's so nice to know people are enjoying this so far. *smiles.* I'm certainly having a great time with it. **Rogue-Scholar07, **_Skeletons in the Closet _is one of my favorite episodes too—I watch it all the time and like to put it on when I'm running on my treadmill.

Also, **Jaenelle Angelline** brought up something cool about the law that I didn't know—according to Posse Comitatus (circa 1878), the Army and Air Force are not to be used as local law enforcement unless directed to do so by an Act of Congress. That being said, this fic is based on an episode of the 1980 Sunbow series entitled _**Cobra's Candidate**_ in which Colonel Sharpe (who took over after the esteemed Flagg, if I'm not mistaken) has orders from "the president" to send in G.I. Joe when violence breaks out due to the election, which I think would fall under the exception of the **Insurrection Act of 1807**, thus allowing troops to be used "to prevent lawlessness and rebellion". Naturally, since it's a cartoon, there's no mention of what city the Joes are in and "the president" is only mentioned in passing (so I'm pretty sure in 1984 Sunbow was like, "Ah, yeah, send in the Joes. Good enough for government work. That's lunch, right?") and since we're in what Cracked dot com would call "the eleventh and most pointless year yet of the War On Terror", goodness only knows what state Posse Comitatus is in lately. Still, I wouldn't have looked up or known any of this without Jaenelle's helpful review. Thanks, Jaenelle! I like learning new things. *smiles.*

Finally, for those who missed my four hundred or so mentions of it last chapter *winks winsomely* this is written in **1980s animated canon** with only trace elements of the 1980s comics thrown in, so **consider this a fair warning **and please keep it in mind while reading.

*rubs hands together* OK, where were we? Right—the motorcade was heading into the city…

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Two: Uncle Sam Does The Best He Can<span>**

_A vacation in a foreign land  
>Uncle Sam does the best he can<br>You're in the Army now  
>Oh, you're in the Army now<br>Smiling faces as you wait to land  
>But once you get there no one gives a damn<br>You're in the Army now  
>Oh, you're in the Army now<em>

**(Status Quo, _In The Army Now_)**

* * *

><p>The G.I. Joe motorcade was nearly at the heart of the city when the call came in over the comm. "<em>Joe team, what's your position?<em>"

"We're about five klicks from the center of town, Colonel Sharpe," Lady Jaye responded.

"_Roger that, Lady Jaye. I want you to head to these coordinates_." After relaying the new position to the team, Sharpe continued, "_Violence has broken out at a rally in the park. Ready to do your part for the local government?_"

"Ready and rarin', sir," Zap answered. "Let us at 'em."

"_Glad to hear it, Zap._" Sharpe's voice crackled over the headsets. "_The street gangs are running wild. The police can't control the situation, so the President's asked me to send in a unit of Joes_."

"We're a _handful_, not a _unit_, Colonel Sharpe," Scarlett snarked, red tail of hair flapping behind her like a banner.

"_This isn't a full-scale assault, Scarlett_," Sharpe shot back, echoing Duke's earlier admonishment that the presence of the Joes was a defensive move, not an offensive one.

"I hope the enemy knows that!" It was Lady Jaye's opinion that being forced to defend and not retaliate would put the Joes in a dangerous position; she was remembering the footage of the smiley chain swinging into the camera on the video feed. The Joes would be trying to defuse and avoid casualties, but the street gangs would be operating under no such ethical constraints. Jaye glanced down, the wind ruffling her short hair, and looked at the quiver of javelins strapped to her bike, feeling comforted by the reminder of their presence and her own strength. A lot of damage could be done between here and death, if necessary.

"_The 'enemy', Lady Jaye, is barely old enough to vote!_" Sharpe said. "_All of you, keep your heads about you. Understood?_" Again, the Colonel's meaning was clear—their job was to defend, not attack.

"Guess we won't be getting _any_ points for shooting hippies today," Zap groused.

The rally was being held in a lush, green park towards the center of the city, but the Joes didn't have time to enjoy the scenery, which was being marred by what was quickly turning into a full-scale street fight.

Robert Harper, the mayoral candidate who had been speaking, was currently cowering behind his podium in a vain attempt to shield himself from a shower of rotten vegetables, wadded-up newspapers and other refuse that the crowd was pelting his platform with. Half the people in attendance were trying to storm the platform for a full-court press. The other half was divided again into people who were trying to stop the protesters and people who were just trying to escape unscathed.

As the Joe motorcade approached the clearing, they could see that they weren't the only ones who'd brought their rides—three gang members were circling the platform like steel and chrome sharks, each astride a motorcycle. In sharp contrast to the heavily armored G.I. Joe cruisers, these were sport models—noisy, fast street bikes that were doing as much to intimidate the crowd with their engines as the gang members were with their weapons. Each rider had a length of heavy chain gathered in one hand as they controlled the bikes with the other.

Robert Harper was still at his podium, pleading for order. "Please. _Please_! Listen to reason!" he begged, cringing behind the wooden structure as though it were bulletproof.

"We've listened enough, Mr. 'Law and Order'!" one of the gang members called mockingly, her chain already up and swinging like a flail. Harper dove ungracefully out of the way as the girl released her weapon, the chain wrapping around the podium where Harper had been standing not seconds before. Leaning into the turn and pulling smartly on her end of the chain like an urban cowgirl, she yanked the podium towards the end of the platform, where it overbalanced and fell a few short feet to the ground, landing with a _crunch _of splintered wood.

Her friends hadn't been idle while she'd done this—each of them had thrown his chain so that it wrapped around the wooden legs of the platform. Harper hadn't looked back to see what had happened to his podium, but his panicked dash to safety wasn't enough to get him clear when the legs gave way and the platform collapsed in on itself, the wood fracturing and sending jagged bits of shrapnel into the retreating crowd. The banner proclaiming "Hope for Harper" fluttered down to the ground like a white flag of surrender.

Snake Eyes was the first to close in on one of the gang members, tailgating him as he opened the throttle on his bike. Timber was happy to take the helm, snarling from his sidecar; the commando kept the bike steady so the wolf could leap from his perch, landing squarely on the punk's back and setting his teeth into the youth's red jacket.

With a howl, the boy lost control of his bike, which spun away as Timber turned the fall into an awkward roll, punk and wolf sliding in the grass. Shocked, the gang member kicked out in a panic. "What the _hell_?" he shrieked, voice high and thready. "What the—leggo! Let go of me!"

Timber understood Colonel Sharpe's order very well—when he clamped his mighty jaws onto the youth's ankle, it was not to hurt but to detain. The boy scrambled clumsily to get away, and the wolf ended up with only a mouthful of torn denim as the leg of the kid's jeans ripped.

"Hey!" the girl called, pulling her bike to a stop and dismounting. Turning her head towards where the third boy had his bike idling, she shouted "Ricky! C'mere!" She started towards the battle as though she would help, but having temporarily escaped Timber's hold, the boy in the red jacket was on his feet and stumbling away as fast as he could. "Go, go!" he screamed, one hand on her back to push her as the third gang member also discarded his bike and caught up to them.

By the time Snake had collected Timber, the other Joes had caught up and the motorcade was quickly gaining on the fleeing youths, leaving tracks in the grass as they headed for the pavement leading to the park gate. Beyond it were storefronts, and if the kids ducked into any of them the Joes would have to either split up or waste precious time searching for them.

"Let's get the hell out of here!" the kid in the red jacket was yelling as the three punks ran full tilt out of the park gate and into the street, ducking into a narrow alley that bordered a coffee shop.

"Damn it," Lady Jaye spat. "We can't follow them on wheels if they go that way. Time to ditch the bikes."

"Duke isn't going to like how expensive _that'll_ be," Zap remarked as they left the motorcycles just inside the park gate. He patted his bike fondly, knowing it'd be gone before they got back to this park—if that's where they even ended up by the time this crazy detail was over.

"He can put it on our tab," Jaye declared. "Come on, let's move out or we'll lose 'em."

Too late—the Joes bolted into the alley, but the three gang members were nowhere to be found.

"Oh, terrific," Scarlett said with an eyeroll as they fanned out to check the few hiding places the alley had to offer. There was no activity in the only Dumpster, and the only other exit was an emergency door that couldn't have been opened from the alley. "Now we get to play hide and go seek."

Freedom provided the answer; the eagle had been hovering above the Joes as they'd chased their targets, and now the bird ascended gracefully and cawed out the alarm. Glancing up, the Joes saw that the three gang members were climbing a rickety fire escape up the side of the coffee shop.

"The bird has the word," Scarlett quipped, indicating Freedom above them with a tilt of her head. "Up we go."

Zap grumbled as he followed the women and Snake Eyes onto the fire escape. "I swear to God, Scarlett, if that song gets stuck in my head today, we're leaving you here and reporting you missing in action."

"Second that," Lady Jaye agreed. The redhead chuckled.

The female gang member was leaning out over the rooftop. "They're coming! Fast!" she shouted back to her compatriots.

Scarlett and Lady Jaye were the first to make it up to the roof. "Reach for the skies, kiddos," Lady Jaye ordered as the three youths backed away from the advancing Joes. "You boxed yourselves in up here. No one's going anywhere but down."

The gang member in the red jacket obeyed Lady Jaye and stuck his hands up, but suddenly turned and began waving frantically at another building, as though signaling someone.

Scarlett arched a brow and started to say something, but she was interrupted by the roar of engines. The three gang members dove to the sides of the rooftop and took what little cover was available as three large ATVs drove from the higher rooftop of the adjacent building and landed before the two Joes like a movie stunt from hell. The treaded wheels squealed as the three vehicles bore down on them, each piloted by one of—

"The Dreadnoks!" Lady Jaye exclaimed incredulously. Of all the outrageous things—what the hell were Cobra's bully boys doing running interference for a few street hoods? Unless—

Scarlett looked equally surprised, and Jaye could see her make the connection as well. "Then _Cobra's_ mixed up in—"

The redhead never finished the thought; both women leaped out of the way of the ATV that was about to run them down, driven by a grinning Buzzer, his blond ponytail streaming behind him, the sunlight glinting off his aviator glasses.

As always, the Dreadnoks looked like they'd gotten lost on the way to a schlocky low-budget action movie. Like the gang members, they wore brightly colored clothes that had seen better days, and pants that were at least two sizes too tight. _Unlike_ the children, they were armed—grenades and smoke bombs decorated Buzzer's denim vest and the necklace of blades and sharp-edged utensils that clinked around Ripper's muscular neck, contrasting unnervingly with his loud animal-print shirt. Once again the jingle of chains could be heard, although Torch loved them more for their potential as an accessory than for their use as a weapon and happily draped them anywhere on his leather vest that there was room. All they needed was a flashing sign above their heads that said "Goons For Hire".

Snake Eyes, who had been behind Lady Jaye and Scarlett on the fire escape, had just gotten to the rooftop when the Dreadnoks joined the battle. Before the commando could climb off the ladder and help his friends, Torch swung his ATV in a tight circle, throwing a kick as he passed the ladder and hitting Snake Eyes squarely in the chest. Thrown off-balance, Snake tipped backward onto the remaining Joes, sending them all tumbling down the rickety metal stairs in a dangerous domino effect.

"G'day, Joes!" Torch crowed, pleased with his handiwork. Bringing his weapon to bear, he neatly shot the moorings of the ladder, severing it from the rooftop. Freedom cawed in alarm as the fire escape collapsed, sending Zap, Spirit, Snake Eyes and Timber plummeting towards the street. Their yells of surprise were quickly lost in the deafening crash as the structure hit the ground and all but shattered, sending sharp metal shrapnel in all directions.

"This…is…_bullshit_," Zap declared as he crawled out of the wreckage of the fire escape. Timber, who'd been thrown clear, shook himself and helpfully tugged on Snake Eyes' sleeve as the commando slithered out from under the metal trapping him. Spirit groaned—he'd been the low man on the totem pole and thus had had the least far to fall, but he'd landed on his back and hadn't been able to stop his head from that last smack against the pavement—but gained his feet quickly and quickly looked for Freedom, who was none the worse for wear, testing his wings as he strutted away from the debris.

The three gang members watched hesitantly from the rooftop as the Joes tried to collect their wits far below, but were interrupted by Buzzer, who snarled, "Well, what're you waitin' for? Get down there and see if there's any prisoners!" The gang members didn't have to be told twice—they headed for the stairwell leading into the building, now the only exit from the rooftop that didn't involve a four-story drop. It was questionable as to whether their speed was due to eagerness to capture the Joes or because they weren't too keen on spending a lot of time with the Dreadnoks.

Lady Jaye and Scarlett had been too busy taking cover from the ATVs to see the fire escape fall, but they'd sure heard it—Jaye petitioned God and Scarlett inhaled sharply in concern. Unfortunately, there was no time to check on their friends just yet—they had bigger problems. Buzzer had maneuvered his ATV back into striking distance, and Ripper and Torch were flanking him, leaving nowhere to dodge.

"Ladies," the blond Dreadnok purred, "goodbye to you, too!"

As Lady Jaye had told the gang members, there was no place to go but down. With nowhere to run, the two Joes shared a quick glance and, with the mental telepathy that only great teammates can achieve, silently agreed to jump rather than be captured. They let themselves be herded towards the rooftop's edge, backing away from the advancing Dreadnoks until there was nothing to do but leap backwards into space.

The building itself seemed to shudder as the ATVs slammed into the wall where Lady Jaye and Scarlett had been standing only seconds before. "Grab on!" Scarlett gasped as they hurtled over the rooftop's edge. Desperately, Lady Jaye reached out, hands scraping roughly against the windowsill she grasped, her body jerking painfully at the abrupt stop of her fall. Following Scarlett's lead, she swung through the window, kicking her feet out to smash it inward. They fell into the room in a hail of broken glass, landing mercifully on their feet—rolling in broken glass would have made an already great day even better, Jaye thought wryly.

Scarlett puffed out a breath, looking equally relieved. "You O.K.?" she asked Jaye, and the other woman nodded, brushing bits of glass out of the folds of her BDUs.

"Yeah, I'm cool. Come on," Jaye said, glancing around—it looked like they were in an apartment above the coffee shop. A full-sized bed was against the wall with a nighttable beside it, and there was a plushly upholstered love seat and chair across the room with a small table between them. "We've got a score to settle with those meatheads."

Scarlett nodded firmly, but before the two women could exit the room, the adjoining door opened and a man walked out of what appeared to be a bathroom, steam escaping in a white cloud behind him. The man wore only a towel wrapped around his waist, and his hair was damp from the shower. At the sight of the two Joes, his eyes went wide and he raised his hands in surrender, but the abrupt motion caused the towel to slip and he grabbed at it in a panic, keeping one hand raised to show he was unarmed.

Lady Jaye almost chuckled; she could only imagine what it must have looked like. The poor man likely hadn't heard the window breaking due to the sound of the water in his shower, and he'd come into the room all but naked to find two women standing in his bedroom, armed to the teeth. No wonder he looked so nervous.

Scarlett motioned to Jaye that they should leave, marching briskly past the stunned man with a little wave. "We'll pay for the window, mister," she chirped. "Honest." Lady Jaye beamed at the man as she closed the apartment door behind them, then ran for the stairwell with Scarlett close behind.

Lady Jaye laughed at her companion as they pounded down the stairs to the street. "That was so polite of you. You can take the girl out of the South, but you can't take the South out of the girl."

"Let's get the girl back in the Pit," Scarlett begged wearily, vaulting a railing neatly to skip an entire section of stairs and catch up to where Jaye waited on the landing. "How did we lose control of this op? This whole mission has gone FUBAR. Why the hell are the Dreadnoks here? What interest could Cobra possibly have in a mayoral election?"

"I don't know, but we're going to find out," Lady Jaye declared. "But first, we've got to find the others."

"Cross your fingers that the Dreadnoks didn't find them first," Scarlett said as they ran out of the stairwell and onto the sidewalk, sprinting back into the alley.

But neither Joe nor Dreadnok was to be found in the wreckage of the fire escape. A few feathers marked the passing of Freedom, and Lady Jaye didn't like the look of a bloody smear on one of the broken railings, but there was no sign of their comrades.

"Olly-olly-oxen-free," Scarlett called hopefully as she jogged towards the ruined structure, but there was no answer as she checked the wreckage. "Snake Eyes? Spirit?" A worried look crossed her face as she cast about for their missing friends. "Snake?"

Lady Jaye shook her head. "No joy. Where could they go so quickly?"

Scarlett circled back to Jaye, looking perplexed. "Beats me, but we've got to start somewhere. Let's scout the scene back at the park." She didn't look happy, but the mission was first and foremost.

In all the confusion, Lady Jaye had almost forgotten about Robert Harper. "Good call. Maybe the others had the same idea. Let's go."

By the time the two Joes got back to the clearing where the rally had been held, local police had arrived on the scene and were trying to clear some of the debris that had been left by the destruction of the platform. To the surprise of Lady Jaye and Scarlett, a voice could be heard shouting from somewhere in the rubble.

"Help me! Someone, please, help me!"

A plank of wood shifted and tumbled from the pile, revealing a scraped, dusty hand reaching out for assistance. Quickly, Lady Jaye leaped into the mess, grabbing the questing hand and hauling its owner—Robert Harper—out from under the wood. Scarlett advanced quickly to assist the short, stocky man up, taking his arm and helping his gain his feet.

"Thank you," Harper gasped gratefully to Jaye, glancing around confusedly. Turning to Scarlett, he added, "And you, as well!"

"Just doing our job, Mr. Harper," Lady Jaye assured him.

"Come on," Scarlett entreated, taking Harper's arm politely and shepherding him away from the ruins of the platform. "Let's all get out of here."

Jaye agreed with that sentiment—with the Dreadnoks running around, it wasn't wise to stay in one place for too long, and goodness only knew what other serpents were lurking on the city streets.

* * *

><p>Snake Eyes was disgusted—not just at the idea that they'd basically been captured by a bunch of kids, but that he hadn't heeded the warnings he'd been getting so strongly about this crazy detail the night before. While he wasn't sure how he would have handled it if he had—maybe by outlining a more concrete formation instead of running in with all guns blazing, so to speak, or possibly requesting more manpower—the fact remained that the Joes were now split up, outnumbered, and outgunned. He didn't know what had become of Scarlett or Lady Jaye, and he, Zap and Spirit were currently being shepherded underground by the street punks. They'd crawled free from the wreckage of the fire escape only to find themselves surrounded by the gang, and being unable to retaliate when threatened, could not make good their escape before the kids' backup had arrived—the Dreadnoks, Cobra's version of F-Troop.<p>

_That_ was the most baffling thing about the entire situation. What the hell were those three freaks doing in the city, and why were the gang members taking orders from them?

All three of the hoods seemed to have lost their flail chains in the throwdown at the park, but Snake Eyes was betting that they had knives on them somewhere, and while they were no match for the Joes in hand-to-hand combat, they looked as though they could scrap and would prove to be at the very least a nuisance should it come down to grappling. The Dreadnoks _were_ armed—Buzzer with his signature chainsaw, Ripper with the assault rifle that he probably slept beside, and Torch with the acetylene tool that shared his name, plus each man always carried an assortment of various incendiary devices—and with the gang members to help outnumber the Joes, it hadn't been hard to restrain them and herd them towards the nearest subway station.

Now they were underground, walking along the train tracks towards an unknown destination. So far, no trains had passed them by. Not that Snake Eyes relished the idea of putting a civilian train in danger, but any kind of distraction could only help the captive Joes now. He was beginning to see Lady Jaye's earlier point—it wasn't just intensely frustrating that they couldn't attack their enemies simply because they were confused youths; the surprise addition of the Dreadnoks had upgraded the kids from a nuisance to a threat, and the Joes' ethical handicap could very well prove to be the difference between life and death.

Now that he had time to study them more closely, Snake Eyes was troubled by how young the gang members really were. As Colonel Sharpe had hinted, Snake would have been surprised if these kids were even old enough to vote. Despite the fact that none of the youths wore colors that corresponded to each other or insignia indicating that they were members of the same gang, they seemed to be working as a unit nonetheless.

The young man that he and Timber had taken down in the park earlier wore blue jeans, boots, and the red jacket. The word "Rogues" was embroidered across the back of the garment, and he'd combed more styling cream through his brown hair than was probably necessary, as if he'd seen one too many James Dean flicks. But the kid was just a rebel without a clue—there was a mocking glint of humor in his pale gray eyes, as though he were confident that they had the upper hand. This was good news to Snake Eyes; overconfident enemies made mistakes, and it could give the Joes a chance to get away.

The other boy was burlier, his tawny hair held out of his face with a white bandana. His pug-nosed face wasn't as classically handsome as his friend's, and seemed to be perpetually frowning under heavy blond brows. He also wore jeans and boots, and the word "Fugitives" was embroidered on the back of his blue vest, which had probably begun life as a shirt until he'd torn the sleeves off it—his large biceps strained at the fraying armholes and it gapped over a muscular chest. His stomach wasn't as defined as the rest of him; it was likely he just lifted weights to look like he could hit with all he had rather than to achieve a balanced effect. Back in the park, Snake Eyes had heard the girl call this boy by name—"Rick" or "Ricky", he thought, but falling from the fire escape and the ensuing confusion before their capture had buried that memory as a less important detail that he fought to clarify now. So far, Rick had proven himself to be quicker and stronger than his red-jacketed compatriot, but he was still readily taking orders from the Dreadnoks, so there was no accounting for common sense.

Each of the boys seemed to be deferring to the third gang member, the only female one. Her name was Pilar, according to their conversation, and she appeared to be de facto leader of the group despite having the name of yet another gang, the Crusaders, embroidered on her clothes. She wore a yellow sleeveless shirt that she'd hacked off at the top of her ribcage, exposing a flat expanse of midriff. Snake Eyes was surprised by her choice of footwear—she wore sandals and pegged jeans, leaving her feet and ankles vulnerable, a fact that Snake filed away for later, although he hoped not to have to make use of it. Her thick black hair was cropped close to her head, presumably to make her look tougher, but she'd been vain enough to pin gold studs in her ears and slick coral-colored lipstick on with a heavy hand. Gold bangle bracelets jingled at one wrist and were pushed up her opposite bicep. Angular cheekbones coupled with her ferocious expression made her pretty face look more severe than it really was, but her dark eyes flashed in her tanned face, sparkling with intelligence. Snake Eyes had hopes that she, at least, could be reasoned with.

Years of training revealed their weak spots to the commando—Pilar's exposed midriff and ankles, Rick's soft stomach, Red Jacket's overconfidence—and he had to remind himself that they were confused kids taking orders from liars and crooks. They had weapons and were good at puffing themselves up to appear tough, but they clearly hadn't done their homework—they'd been smart enough to bind the hands of their captives, but not smart enough to do it behind their backs rather than in front of them. Also, rather than twine or cable ties, they'd used a rope that looked older than they were, and Snake Eyes was confident that he could slip it when the time came to fight. For now, he wanted their jailers to think they were truly helpless—it might cause the thugs to relax enough to make a mistake.

Which presented another problem—_how_ to fight. Once more Snake Eyes heard Colonel Sharpe's voice in his memory reminding him that their opponents were barely more than children, that G.I. Joe was there to defend, not to attack. But he couldn't help feeling the acidic bite of temper at the memory of the dangerous fall from the fire escape. These kids didn't know who they were messing with on _either_ side—they saw the Joes as their enemies and weren't even smart enough to know that they were nothing but cannon fodder to Cobra. It was a shame the Joes couldn't convince the gang to switch sides, but there was no telling what lies the Dreadnoks had told the children to get them to cooperate, and the Joes were still outnumbered due to the absence of Scarlett and Lady Jaye.

Where _were_ Scarlett and Lady Jaye?

This was an old routine for Snake Eyes—reminding himself that the women were just as capable in battle as the rest of the Joes, trying to cheer himself by telling himself they'd kick his ass if they suspected he worried about them, and of course subsequently being unable to stop an inevitable disturbing mental picture of Jaye huddled and torn in a corner, Scarlett lying on the ground like a broken doll, her bright hair mingling with her own blood, one arm flung out as though reaching for…

The commando centered himself, shook the image away. _They're both fine. Scarlett is fine. Right now __**we**__ are the ones in trouble_, he reminded himself. _So assess the situation. Find a way to win—and then we can find Scarlett and Lady Jaye._

As they marched along the train tracks, Zap addressed their jailers, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, how's it feel, Pilar, being a two-bit toadie for Cobra? Just like—"

Pilar stopped short, whirling on the assault specialist. "It _feels_ O.K.!" she declared stridently, thrusting her angry face towards his and turning his taunt back on him. "We beat G.I. Joe, didn't we?"

Before Zap could answer, Buzzer interrupted indignantly from where the Dreadnoks were bringing up the rear. "Loike _snorkelfish_ you did!" he huffed petulantly. "_We_ caught 'em!"

Spirit shook his head amusedly. "Wonderful. Confusion to our enemies," he said, and while the sarcasm wasn't as evident in his calm, metered voice as it might have been in another person's, Snake Eyes got the point. _Terrific_, he thought in answer to the tracker's jest, although his bound hands were unable to sign. _Maybe the bad guys will fight amongst themselves._ Still, it was nice to know there was dissent among the ranks—maybe the Dreadnoks' sway over the children was more tenuous than they thought. Unhappy flunkies could sometimes be counted on to turn on their masters, which could come in handy later.

"Yes, luv," Ripper said, backing up Buzzer. "If you'd _done_ it roight, we wouldn't 'ave 'ad to show ourselves yet!"

"You was paid t'do a job an' ya bollixed it up good, ya did," Torch concluded. "Two Joeys got away. We oughta get a refund from your pay packets, we should."

That was too much for Pilar. She leaped like a jungle cat towards the nearest Dreadnok—Ripper—and seized his collar as though he weren't twice her size and more heavily armed than she was. Snake Eyes blinked behind his mask at her boldness—she was either completely mad or just brave through ignorance, as though she honestly believed she stood a chance against the burly Dreadnok. "We don't gotta take this!" she snarled right in the big man's bearded face.

"Is that roight?" Ripper's mirrored sunglasses betrayed no expression; he lifted one huge hand and almost casually slapped the angry girl away, as though swatting a fly. Pilar went flying back onto the ground, sliding to rest at the feet of her friends, who dashed to help her up. It had been an open-handed slap. If Ripper had closed his fist the girl would have been unconscious, but it hadn't been mercy that had prompted him to restrain himself—it was laziness, Snake Eyes thought with disdain.

But there was no time left for contempt. Pilar's attack had put her behind the Joes along with the Dreadnoks, and when Ripper had hit her her two friends had rushed to help, leaving the prisoners unguarded on one side. As the Dreadnoks braced themselves to deal with the upstarts, the three Joes exchanged the briefest of nods and bolted, sprinting down the tracks into the darkness of the train tunnel. With a twist of his arms and a flex of his shoulders, Snake Eyes snapped the rope that had been haphazardly tied around his hands, and saw Spirit and Zap slipping their bonds in a similar manner. Timber galloped beside him, the wolf's watchful eye on his master until he knew for sure that Snake didn't need any help with the rope.

"You'll do what we say and _loike_ it!" Buzzer's voice bounced off the narrow tunnel walls.

"That's what you're paid for," Torch agreed.

"And the first thing you're gonna do, mates, is _get those prisoners back_!"

Pounding footsteps behind them alerted Snake Eyes to two pursuers—likely Rick and the other boy, judging from the heavy footfalls. Unfortunately, the Joes didn't have enough of a head start to outrun Pilar's resourcefulness—something _pinged_ to the ground ahead of the fleeing soldiers, and before Snake's mind even had the chance to form the word _grenade_, the damn thing had gone off. He hit the dirt, seeing Spirit, Zap and Timber ahead of him for a few seconds before a shower of dust and debris kicked up a cloud to hide them from view. Freedom cawed somewhere through the haze.

Luckily, they hadn't been close enough for the grenade to do any real damage, and the idiot Dreadnoks often carried weapons like laughing gas and smoke bombs that were meant to torment and annoy rather than cause serious injury. Snake Eyes was sure that was where Pilar had gotten the grenade—she certainly hadn't had any on her person that he could see, and he hadn't heard her footsteps behind them giving chase. Likely she'd stayed behind and swiped a weapon from the Dreadnoks that would quickly stop the Joes' escape instead of wasting time pursuing them on foot.

It made Snake Eyes think better of Pilar. While she'd tossed the weapon with little concern for her two friends, who'd been chasing the Joes into the line of fire, it had been a pretty good idea to come up with on the fly, and it had certainly accomplished her aim. As he'd suspected, she was smart; again, it was a shame that that intelligence didn't extend to seeing through the wool Cobra was pulling over her eyes.

Of course, he wasn't so pleased with her a second later when he regained his feet and tried to run in the direction he thought Spirit, Zap, Timber and Freedom were, only to have her land on his back and knock him to the ground again, just as Timber had tackled the punk in the red jacket off his bike earlier in the day.

Had that really happened only a couple of hours ago? It seemed so long ago now, Snake Eyes thought as he tried to slip Pilar's hold without hurting her. It was unbelievable that the girl had been crowing about "beating" the Joes when in reality, they were only "winning" because the Joes were bending over backwards not to do serious injury to the kids. _This can't get any worse_, Snake Eyes thought reflexively, before he realized how really silly the phrase was.

The ground shuddered beneath him, hardly noticeable at first, then with increasing intensity as the tracks vibrated, announcing the approach of something they hadn't seen the entire time they'd been down here—a subway train. As the commando lay in the center of the tracks like roadkill, he saw two headlights blazing through the tunnel like eyes as the metal behemoth approached.

Behind his mask, Snake Eyes rolled his eyes at himself and finished his own clichéd thought.

_O.K. **Now** it can't get any worse._

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

As I've mentioned, this fic is based on the 1980s Sunbow episode _**Cobra's Candidate**_. While not all the dialogue and action in this chapter is verbatim from the episode, a good portion of it is. Any embellishments or corny jokes you don't recognize are likely mine, because my sense of humor is like my taste in clothes and music—stuck somewhere back in 1982.

**"Surfin' Bird":** This is not the first fic in which I've made a **"Surfin' Bird"** joke, but don't blame me—blame Scarlett; that line is actually canon, straight from _Cobra's Candidate_. Zap's response to Scarlett is not canon, but do you blame the guy? "Surfin' Bird" is performed by the Trashmen and it still holds the title for Worst Song In Recorded History.

**F Troop:** While in captivity, Snake Eyes likens the Dreadnoks to the 1965 television characters of _F Troop_. The series was about a group of bumbling, clumsy Civil War-era soldiers who spent most of their time trying to advance their own crooked moneymaking schemes rather than doing what they were supposed to do, which isn't so far-fetched when you consider that the Dreadnoks' carelessness and greed has cost Cobra quite a few victories. I mean, these guys quit playing "Cold Slither" in the middle of a concert because they felt they weren't getting paid enough.

"**Rebel without a clue": **Again, while captured, Snake Eyes makes a mental mention of **James Dean** when studying their teenage captors, adding a mocking reference to Dean's film _Rebel Without a Cause_.

The military slang and terms used in this chapter, if I remember them all correctly, are as follows: a **klick** is military slang for a kilometer. **BDUs**, like what Lady Jaye wears, is an acronym for **B**attle **D**ress **U**niform. At one point Scarlett says that the mission is **FUBAR**, an acronym for **F**ucked **U**p **B**eyond **A**ll **R**ecognition. **"No joy"** is actually a DoD air intercept term for "no visual"—literally, "I can't see them".

Thanks again to anyone who's stuck around this long! Next chapter we catch up with Lady Jaye and Scarlett, and if I had been writing the episodes back in 1984, you can bet I would have had Snake Eyes uppercutting the hell out of a subway train. (I hope it's the A. Punch the A train, Snake, it's the worst one on the line!)


	3. A Single Thread To Cross The Sky

**Author's Introduction:**

****Disclaimer:**** We're able to read about our beloved Joes due to the intellectual awesomeness of Mr. Larry Hama, and the franchising superpowers of Hasbro (thanks guys!), and I wouldn't dream of infringing on their copyrights for my own financial gain; this is done purely for entertainment purposes.

Once again, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed. I'm really having fun writing this story, so I hope you're all having fun reading it.

A friendly reminder—we're working in **1980s animated canon** here, so don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm glad I started early on collecting the pieces I'm going to need for my Scarlett cosplay this fall. I'm ahead of the game right now, but who would have thought it would be so hard to find a pair of yellow gloves that are the right length? Two things I _won't_ need are a crossbow—I've got three—and a red wig *flips blood red hair* This is all me!

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter Three: A Single Thread To Cross The Sky<span>**

_I'd be myself if I knew who I'd become  
>You don't have to fly too high<br>To get too close to the sun  
>But no, not here, not now, no way<br>I'm not ready to give up the fight  
>If I can use a single thread to cross the sky<br>Then why is the eye of the needle still your heart tonight  
>See how the boy falls from the sky<em>

**(Bono/The Edge/Reeve Carney, _Boy Falls From The Sky_)**

* * *

><p>It was hardly the first time Snake Eyes had stared his own potential death in the face—that happened at least once a month—but it was certainly one of Fate's more creative match-ups.<p>

Far beneath the troubled city streets, the commando was lying in the center of the subway tracks, and the entire world was rattling as a train bore down on them, its headlights cutting through the dim tunnel like laser beams.

The G.I. Joe commando was a warrior born; he had long ago accepted that the odds were better than even that he would someday fall in battle. However, he was also human, and death was an unavoidable likelihood that he couldn't help but consider sometimes when he was alone or injured, always arriving at the same inevitable conclusion—that he was at peace with the idea of an honorable death in the line of duty, a story his comrades would tell with pride in the Pit long after he was gone. They'd deal a hand of poker, maybe, and wax poetic about how his noble sacrifice in taking down an unmanned Cobra plane loaded with explosives before it hit the White House had cost him his life. Maybe they'd switch off a schlocky kung fu movie in the lounge, claiming that it was poor entertainment compared to his last battle, in which he'd tackled a Cobra soldier just in time to stop him from detonating a nuke that would have devastated half the country, his momentum tragically carrying them both off a cliff in a fatal fall.

Perhaps Scarlett would one day stand before a team of recruits who fancied themselves ninja, beginning their training with a rousing, intimidating tale of how he, bleeding from multiple wounds, had hacked his way through an entire Cobra battalion before going down. She'd tell them they had some pretty goddamn big boots to fill, a sad, proud smile on her face, his katana shining on the wall behind her.

And maybe, someday, Flint might scoop up a little pigtailed girl with Lady Jaye's nose and his mischievous eyes, tuck her into bed and assure her that Daddy would never have to go to war again, because of a man named Snake Eyes who'd had to go to heaven but had managed to keep fighting just long enough to stomp a big, bad serpent named Cobra Commander. And they all lived happily ever after…

It was times like that when the thoughts of his own death somehow made him smile.

Almost leisurely, the commando considered this latest potential swan song of a war story as it rumbled down the track towards him.

_Sing a song of Snake Eyes, _he thought whimsically. _Pancaked by a train_.

…_Yeah, no way_.

Pilar, the teenage gang member who'd tackled him to the ground right in the middle of the track with absolutely no plan beyond stopping his escape, finally began acting her age—at the sight of the oncoming train, she froze like a startled rabbit and screamed shrilly, eyes so wide her lashes touched her skin all around.

The commando moved like chain lightning. He seized the panicked girl on the way up, before even fully gaining his feet, and leapt out of the way of the metal monster. The tunnel seemed to turn a barrel roll as he threw his body backwards in an achingly graceful flip, Pilar's screams muffled by the rush of wind as the train rocketed past them with a roar and a squeal, the friction of its wheels kicking up sparks along the rails.

Snake Eyes landed firmly on his feet, Pilar in his arms in a threshold carry. He could feel her entire body shivering, and her makeup seemed to float on her fear-pale face. He considered attempting to sign to ask her if she were all right, but dismissed it as a waste of time; she wouldn't understand. She looked all right for the most part; her eyes were still wide and shocky, but she didn't seem injured. He decided to take her along with him to reconnoiter with the rest of the Joes—maybe they could talk some sense into her, and if that failed, at least they'd have a hostage. He hated to resort to such gangster tactics, but the Dreadnoks were hardly playing fair, and compromises were going to have to be made if the Joes were going to get out of this and find Scarlett and Lady Jaye.

Unfortunately, before Snake Eyes could even put Pilar down, a shot _pinged_ off the tunnel wall inches away from his masked face, sending sharp bits of stone in all directions and leaving a smoking hole to mark its passing. Reflexively, Snake dodged, curling his upper body around Pilar to shield her.

"That'll be far enough!" Torch called to Snake Eyes, his thick accent leaving hissing echoes in the tunnel. Turning in the direction he thought the remaining Joes were, he added, "And if you mates keep running, your friend here will sizzle like a French fry!"

It was times like these Snake Eyes wished for the gift of speech, the gift so many took for granted. Instead, he concentrated on willing his friends to ignore the Dreadnok. _Charlie Mike, boys, _he thought fiercely. _I can take care of these idiots. Get above ground and find out what the hell's going on here. I'll catch up._

Realizing that he, at least, was not going to get away just yet, Snake Eyes put Pilar carefully down. She repaid him by circling briskly to his back and giving him a rough shove towards where the Dreadnoks waited. Snake smirked behind his mask; she was playing the tough girl again, as though she hadn't been paralyzed with fear less than three minutes before and unable to move to save herself from being run down by the train.

_So this is the thanks I get for saving a girl from being splattered all over the subway track_, Snake thought with rueful amusement. _No wonder chivalry is dead_.

What was worse was that as he walked towards his captors, he saw Zap, Spirit, Timber and Freedom also obediently returning. Frowning at them behind his mask, Snake wished they'd escaped when they'd had the chance, but Scarlett's voice in his memory was quick to rebuke him.

"_You know better. If I had said Charlie Mike, would **you** have?"_

No, of course he wouldn't have—not for Scarlett and not for any of them. A good soldier never left a man behind, and he couldn't fault his fellow Joes for doing exactly what he would have done.

_So repay them_, he told himself firmly. _They came back for you—so be worth it and make yourself useful. _

Buzzer treated them to an oily, superior smile as they marched past him. Gesturing grandly with one burly arm, the Dreadnok teased, "Right this way, folks. We've got a cozy little suite just waitin' for you."

Snake Eyes reassessed their situation as they were marched further into the train tunnel, but not much had changed since their dangerous fall from the fire escape—they were still outnumbered, outgunned, and pinioned by the fact that they couldn't seriously engage the Dreadnoks without endangering the teenage gang members.

Still, there was hope. The Dreadnoks were, as usual, easily distracted, and it was clear there was no love lost between them and the gang members. There had already been one fight, causing enough confusion that the Joes had had an opportunity to get away. While that hadn't worked out, it was obvious they weren't dealing with the upper echelon of Cobra here; they would simply have to be ready to seize their next opportunity, and given the unprofessionalism of their jailers, there certainly would be one.

Moreover, while he had been berating the gang members for their clumsiness in handling the Joes, Torch had unwittingly provided them with good news—Scarlett and Lady Jaye had escaped. They were still alive!

The thought brought a smile to Snake Eyes' face behind his mask, but it didn't last long when he saw their destination—what looked like an abandoned generator room. There were two raised concrete blocks built into the floor parallel to each other, presumably having once contained the large metal cylinders, but the machinery had been removed long since. The fuse boxes on the wall were rusty and useless, what connectors remained in them twisted and snapped. There was nothing to use as a weapon, not even a stray cog or wire; the rest of the room was thickly walled save for the door, which had a small barred window built into it at eye level. The bars gleamed dully in the stingy light, the only part of the room that wasn't covered in a layer of dust.

A cozy little suite, indeed.

"Let's go, Yo Joey!" Buzzer gloated, raising his saw. With no choice, the Joes marched into the makeshift prison.

As the heavy metal door clanged shut, Snake Eyes held on to the thought that was currently driving him—_Scarlett and Lady Jaye are still alive_. He hoped they were doing better than the rest of the unit was right now—the Dreadnoks were employing a power play, there were no time-outs remaining and he, Zap and Spirit were in the penalty box. All in all, things were not looking good for the home team.

* * *

><p>At his request, Lady Jaye and Scarlett escorted Robert Harper to an office building. Neither woman was thrilled with the idea of taking time to do so when their friends were missing in action, but the mission was first and foremost. Their destination wasn't too far from the park, and no one harassed them on the way—possibly due to the fact that Jaye walked with a javelin out and Scarlett had her crossbow in hand. For his part, Harper seemed none the worse for wear after his ordeal, save for his suit being stained with produce and dust. Lady Jaye wrinkled her nose as the rotund mayoral candidate drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and flapped it out before wiping his face. "I'll bet the local fruit vendors did a good piece of business today," she quipped. "No wonder there's always someone who has tomatoes at a political rally."<p>

"It's all in a day's work," Harper declared sanctimoniously. "Someone's got to suffer the slings and arrows on the way to restoring peace."

Scarlett rolled her eyes behind Harper's back and Lady Jaye hid a smile; she hoped the mayoral candidate hadn't hoped to impress the two women who'd spent the entire morning fighting for their lives before finding him unhurt, way out of the line of fire. "You're an inspiration to us all, Mr. Harper," Jaye crooned sweetly, and Scarlett narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring in poorly concealed disdain.

"Yes, yes, thank you," Harper said brusquely, coming to a stop in front of a skyscraper. High above them, giant letters affixed to the side of the structure spelled out _Extensive Enterprises_. "Well, this is the building. Thank you both so much for your assistance."

"Oh, but you must allow us to escort you to your meeting," Lady Jaye pressed. "Can't be too careful, Mr. Harper."

A line appeared on Harper's brow; instead of looking grateful, he seemed rather eager to dismiss them, but nodded, as though he couldn't come up with a valid reason to send them away. "You've both been more than kind," he told them after they'd ridden the glass-paneled elevator to the top floor of the building and escorted him down a tiled corridor until they reached a thick glass security door. "But now I'm late for a meeting with my advisors, so I hope you'll excuse my haste."

Scarlett hiked a brow, exchanging a glance with Lady Jaye. For someone who'd been attacked by chain-wielding hellions on motorcycles and had subsequently had to be dug out from under a pile of splintered lumber, he didn't seem too keen on having two armed, trained G.I. Joes as bodyguards.

"Of course," Lady Jaye said smoothly. "Why don't we just…wait out here, in case anyone followed us and wants to make trouble."

_Translation_: _we are not leaving_. Glancing at Scarlett, she saw her teammate's mouth tuck in a hidden smile at her diplomacy.

Harper frowned, mouth disappearing under his thick mustache. "Really, that…won't be necessary," he pressed weakly, but made no effort to force them out of the hallway. Rather, he turned his back on them, swiping a passcard through the reader mounted on the metal doorframe. The glass door slid back with a _whoosh_, and Harper stepped nimbly through it before either Joe could attempt to follow.

"Let's hope you're right, Mr. Harper," Lady Jaye said blithely, watching him go.

The two Joes took posts opposite each other against the wall outside the security door without having to discuss it, Lady Jaye's arms folding to cradle her breasts while Scarlett stood at a modified parade rest, hands behind her back. A few minutes passed before Lady Jaye lost her patience. "There is something rotten in the state of Denmark," she declared, striking the wall with her heel in frustration.

"Well, Harper isn't running for mayor there," Scarlett quipped, relaxing and dropping her arms to her sides. "We need to get into that meeting."

Lady Jaye frowned mockingly at her friend. "All right. Why don't you just knock on the door and ask him to let you in?"

Scarlett smiled silkily. "Who said anything about using the door?" she said. "Come on, I've got an idea."

A bad feeling played piano up Lady Jaye's spine, but she reluctantly followed her teammate as the redhead loped down the corridor towards the glass elevator. "Why do I have the feeling I'm going to regret this decision?"

* * *

><p>"I immediately regret this decision," Jaye declared twenty minutes later as she dangled precariously from one of Scarlett's jumplines, which was attached to one of her grappler arrows.<p>

Which, in turn, was attached to the side of the Extensive Enterprises building.

Scarlett's "idea" had been to climb out an open window in the first empty lobby they found and ascend the building from the outside in order to see what there was to see on the top floor where Harper had left them behind. Unfortunately, the first empty lobby had been ten floors down, which had meant scaling the side of the building with the aid of her grappler bolts. This was no big deal for Scarlett, who had the advantage of being a little more athletic than Lady Jaye (and also insane, the corporal decided as she hauled herself up a few more inches, feeling like the idea should have been judged a suicide attempt), but Jaye found the going to be rough almost immediately.

Scarlett, by contrast, was having significantly less trouble climbing the line—a testament to her paranoid obsession with conditioning her upper body. Lady Jaye was beginning to regret not paying more attention to her own; lactic acid burned in her muscles and she didn't dare look down to see the dizzying drop below them.

"Hey, Peter Parker! Why are we doing this?" Jaye called up to Scarlett. "You know I'm not crazy about heights!"

Scarlett reached where her grappler had anchored and hopped nimbly onto a window ledge, reaching down for Lady Jaye's hand. "We have to—" She grunted as she hauled Jaye up to the ledge. "—find out why Cobra's mixed up in this election."

"You have officially lost your idea-having privileges," Lady Jaye panted, trying not to look like she was clinging to the ledge. "Next time, we're using an elaborate system of disguises to trick our way into wherever we need to be. And _you're_ wearing the Tom Selleck mustache."

Scarlett laughed softly. "Come on, partner. Not much further now." She frowned as she loaded another grappler bolt into her crossbow. "These damn lines are never long enough."

"We can make sure your action figure has longer ones," Lady Jaye assured her, trying to joke to distract herself from the twenty-story drop below them.

The redhead arched a brow, puzzled. "Action figure? What action figure?"

Laughing, Jaye shook her head. "Never mind. I was just joking around with Flint last night about how our descriptions must make us sound like a bunch of action figures."

Scarlett smiled, amused. "Did I have one? What was my special feature?"

Lady Jaye tried to remember the previous night's conversation without its distracting carnal rewards. "Um, redheadedness, I think."

The smile dropped off Scarlett's face. "That's it? I didn't even get a karate-chop action? Typical Flint, only noticing the exterior—"

"Maybe yours had a tiny crossbow, and an itsy-bitsy katana," Lady Jaye amended quickly. "It doesn't matter. Could you even imagine a line of G.I. Joe action figures anyway? No one would buy them."

Scarlett chuckled. "Don't be so sure," she said. "I would have played with those as a kid. We could package Cover Girl with an evening gown and a little tank for her to drive. What was your special feature, Jaye? No, wait, don't tell me—you're fully posable." The redhead's grin revealed that she was very aware of what Jaye had been up to the night before.

Lady Jaye leveled a playful glare on her friend. "Don't be jealous because you're not getting any." Arching a brow, she added, "Unless you are and you're just not telling."

"Sorry, my action figure doesn't have a kiss-and-tell function," Scarlett said airily. "Come on, break's over. Up we go." And without blinking, the redhead fired the crossbow once more, the grappler anchoring just below the top corner office. Scarlett grinned, giving herself a thumbs-up like a comic-book fighter pilot. "Bullseye!" Shouldering the weapon, she hauled herself easily up the rope, bright hair whipping in the breeze. "I've got a hunch some of the answers may be up there!"

Lady Jaye grit her teeth, trying not to imagine what would happen if Scarlett wasn't so proficient in her weapon. Forcefully dispelling thoughts of the recoil or a strong wind slapping them both off the side of the building, she steeled herself and grasped the line once more. "I'm not crazy about your hunches, either!"

Carefully, the two Joes climbed to where the grappler had anchored, perching precariously just below the office window. Luckily for them, the glass wasn't soundproof, although the sight that greeted them would have been enough to prove there were doings transpiring—Robert Harper stood with his back to the window, looking up at a massive television screen built into the wall of the office. Flanking him were the two handsomely suited, carefully groomed Cobra soldiers who proved clothes didn't necessarily make the man—Tomax and Xamot, the identical twin commanders of Cobra's elite Crimson Guard.

And on the screen, larger than life, was the serpent himself—Cobra Commander, the eponymous hooded snake blazing red against his blue uniform, the metal face guard on his helmet hiding his expression.

Biting down on a curse, Lady Jaye realized she should have guessed. True armchair commanders, Tomax and Xamot, while certainly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, never engaged an enemy directly when subterfuge and double-dealing would do the job just as well. If anyone had the know-how and the connections to mess with a local election, it was them, and in addition to the Dreadnoks there was likely a battalion of red-clad Siegies somewhere in the city to clean up any messes they might make.

Scarlett smacked a fist gently against the concrete wall of the building in triumph. "I knew it! I knew that guy was dirty. What did I tell you, Jaye?"

"Yes, great, wonderful. You were right. Let me know when we can get down from here…" Before she could stop herself, Lady Jaye's eyes widened. "Hey, Scarlett, how _do_ you plan to get us down from here?"

The redhead blinked blue eyes calmly; she might have been sitting on a chaise lounge. "Hmm. I hadn't thought about that yet. Give me a minute. I'll think of something."

Lady Jaye squeezed her eyes shut tight. "If we live through this, remind me to kill you."

"Hold that thought." Scarlett waved the threat away with a gloved hand. "Let's see if we can hear what they're saying."

It was a little hard to hear due to the thickness of the glass and the wind whipping around them, but Lady Jaye and Scarlett were able to get most of what was being said. "_With you on our side, Mr. Harper,_" Cobra Commander was pointing out, his speech buzzing through the metal mask, "_we can attain our goals by simply making them laws!_"

Scarlett no longer looked amused, blue eyes darkening in concern. "This is way worse than any hunch I had," she said quietly. "Sounds like Cobra's financing Harper's campaign."

Jaye held a finger in front of her lips. "Listen!"

"But…what about the street gangs?" Harper stammered, and Jaye frowned. _Even if this guy gets elected, he's going to need both Tomax and Xamot to tie his shoes every morning, the wimp_, she thought disdainfully. _I'll bet he can't even staple something without forming a committee._

One of the twins—Xamot, Jaye thought, although at this angle she couldn't be sure—put a comforting hand on Harper's shoulder while Cobra Commander laughed triumphantly. "_The street gangs are Cobra's pawns, Mr. Harper_!"

Xamot jumped in to help assure Harper. "They think we really want—"

"—Whittier Greenway to win!" Tomax said, fielding his brother's fly easily. "It makes their hatred of you—"

"—more real!" Xamot continued. "And their attacks on you—"

"—Have swung the voters over to your side," Tomax finished.

Lady Jaye squeezed her eyes shut once more. She was dizzy enough at this altitude without having to deal with the Crimson Twins' creepy habit of finishing each other's sentences. Luckily, Cobra Commander interrupted.

"_Simply arrest them once you take office_," the Commander ordered. "_You'll be keeping your campaign promise_!" He chuckled, proud of his joke about Harper's campaign to "restore law and order".

Lady Jaye and Scarlett exchanged glances. "The only way we can stop this is to tell the gangs what's going on," Jaye decided, and Scarlett nodded. Just as the two Joes were shifting position to descend the way they'd come, Tomax chose that exact moment to glance towards the window. Quickly, Jaye pulled Scarlett down and held her breath, but even as both women flattened themselves against the ledge she knew it was no good. She was sure the Crimson Guard Commander had spotted them, and Tomax confirmed it a second later by drawling, "Mmmm…pardon us…we—"

"—have some important business we—"

"—_must_ attend to." There was an industrial _whirr_ from somewhere within the office—a door sliding back.

It was Lady Jaye and Scarlett's turn to share one mind. "Go. Go. _Now_," Scarlett said firmly, waiting on the ledge while Jaye got onto the jumpline as fast as safety allowed. She quickly tried to put as much distance between herself and the grappler as she could, not just to escape the Crimson Twins she knew now were pursuing them, but also to make enough room on the line for Scarlett to follow. A minute later, a tug and bounce of the rope above her signaled Scarlett's added weight.

Jaye focused on the wall of the building in front of her, forcing herself not to look anywhere else, to breathe with the rhythm of her hands clutching the rope and her feet bracing against the concrete structure. _Be quick, but don't hurry_, she reminded herself as she leaned back, using her own weight to make the climb easier. _Go too fast and you're a bloody smear on the sidewalk…too slow and you're a prisoner of war. Don't make Scarlett have to explain either one to Duke—don't make her explain it to __**Flint**_, Jaye ordered herself fiercely.

A blood-freezing battle yell—in stereo—jolted Lady Jaye out of her thoughts. She glanced up to see the Crimson Twins leaping from a ledge above them, falling from the sky like twin angels of death. They had the upper hand; there was no way for Lady Jaye or Scarlett to safely engage them from the jumpline. Jaye braced her feet against the side of the building, oddly comforted by the idea that if they closed in on her, she could simply jump rather than allow them to capture her alive.

Unfortunately, Tomax was thinking along those lines himself—rather than leap to where the two Joes were clutching the jumpline, he elected to remain where the grappler had anchored. Smiling silkily down at them, he purred, "Goodbye, ladies."

_I'm getting tired of hearing that today,_ Jaye thought idly. She met Tomax's victorious smile with a ferocious, challenging glare, and then with a tremendous yank, the Crimson Guard Commander had pulled the grappler free of its mooring. Just as he did, Jaye pushed off the side of the building with her feet and released the line, attempting to get a handhold on the ledge above her, but her fingers scraped roughly against concrete and she couldn't get a grip; her feet dragging uselessly against the wall with no way to find purchase.

While this last-ditch attempt to remain on the building hadn't worked, it had suspended Jaye at her current altitude for a precious few extra seconds. For her part, Scarlett had elected to keep hold of the line when Tomax had pulled it free from the building. The Crimson Guard Commander stumbled under the burden of the added weight of an adult woman on the line he held; Scarlett gave a short little shriek as Tomax flung the line out into space rather than be dragged off the ledge. Jaye saw the redhead drop past her in a blur of bright colors before she herself began plummeting towards the street.

_We're dead. We are so dead,_ she thought erratically, the wind whistling painfully through her ears. _Flint. I wish—_

Below her, Scarlett suddenly stretched her hands out, her red tail of hair streaming behind her. She had enough of a head start on Jaye that the corporal could see her grasp a ledge, swinging her body through an open window, and just like that, she was out of sight.

_Atta girl, Scarlett!_ Lady Jaye thought, comforted by the idea that if she ended up a chalk outline in thirty seconds, at least there'd be _someone _to search for their missing friends, bring the story back to Duke and Flint. Now if only _she_ could figure out how not to die today—

And just like that, a solution presented itself—another jumpline, swinging gently in the breeze. Lady Jaye's memory rewound in the space of seconds, her mental roulette clunking to a halt on Scarlett frowning on the ledge as she loaded another grappler bolt into her crossbow. _These damn lines are never long enough._

"The first cord!" Jaye gasped, and reached out, feeling the rough material against her uncovered fingertips as she grasped the line, felt the muted burn of it through her gloves as she let it slide through her hands to slow her fall—_don't grab on too tight,_ she warned herself, _you'll pull your arms right out of the sockets and then what good'll you be? Slow…slow_—and then she could brace her feet against the side of the building again, the screaming wind silent in her tortured ears.

Lady Jaye breathed a small sigh of relief. _Safe_.

There was an open window a few feet above her; Jaye began climbing towards it, knowing she'd be far safer inside the building than out. Unfortunately, Xamot hadn't been idle while his brother had been messing with the jumpline; now he leaped to the open window himself, blocking her escape route.

"Not again," Jaye blurted out, the memory of her blood hammering in her ears as she fell from the sky too vivid. Xamot was between her and the safety of the open window, and it was still a little too far to jump. Glancing down, Jaye considered just going hell for leather and letting go of the rope, but she knew it would mean at the very least a broken ankle or leg. She couldn't afford to be slowed down by an injury—there was no way to call for a medivac, and she knew she'd never convince Scarlett to leave her behind. They'd be as good as caught—as good as dead.

_All right_, Lady Jaye thought, turning her face back towards her enemy and steeling herself for another fall. _At least I don't have as far to fall this time. Maybe I can find an open window like Scarlett. Or maybe there'll be a nice pillow truck driving down the street at just the right moment for me to fall into the open flatbed. _The attempt at humor helped; a crooked smile crossed her face as she waited to see what Xamot would do.

Luckily for Jaye, the Crimson Guard Commander hesitated, smiling down at her as though savoring his victory. It cost him dearly—as he leaned forward to seize the jumpline, a pair of long legs flashed out of the open window behind him, her booted feet hitting the evil twin squarely in the back. With a shout of dismay and pain, Xamot overbalanced, toppling off the ledge. Seconds later, an identical shriek was heard a few floors above—Tomax had begun descending the building to back up his brother, and, remaining true to their allegedly Corsican tendencies, he clutched his back as though he'd been the one to receive the blow.

"Xamot! They hit Xamot!" he roared, and lost his footing, flailing wildly in the air as he fell from the ledge only a few seconds behind his brother. Lady Jaye quickly swung her weight to one side of the jumpline to allow the felled Crimson Twins to plummet past her, then turned a grateful smile up to her rescuer—Scarlett had climbed out of the open window and was waiting on the ledge to lend a hand.

"Thanks, Red," Jaye called.

"You bet," the redhead chirped, sketching a mock salute above her smiling face.

Together, the two Joes slid quickly down the jumpline, making it to solid ground only seconds behind the Crimson Twins, who were lucky enough (or, unlucky enough, depending on how you looked at it) to land in an open dumpster at street level. Without waiting to see if their enemies had survived the fall, Scarlett quickly seized the dumpster's heavy lid and with a growl of strain, pulled it down to seal the metal container.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish," the redhead quipped, banging a spiteful fist on the lid of the dumpster. Turning to Lady Jaye, she shook her head. "It won't hold them for long. We should get out of here."

Lady Jaye nodded. "Now if we can just get one gang leader to listen to the truth."

"Getting them to _listen_ will be the easy part." Scarlett shook her head once more, following Lady Jaye down the street. "Making them _believe _it will be something else again."

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

"**There is something rotten in the state of Denmark":** While the line isn't canon from the episode, it's no surprise to me that Lady Jaye, being among the more eloquent of the Joes, is quoting _Hamlet_ here. Personally, I enjoy the Kenneth Branagh film version, which contains the entire play and has better costumes, and isn't just Mel Gibson playing, you know, himself.

**Tom Selleck:** Lady Jaye tells Scarlett that if they ever have to employ disguises, Scarlett has to wear the Tom Selleck mustache. Tom Selleck was a supporting actor on the series _Magnum, P.I._, a show about a private investigator who lives on Oahu and wears loud Hawaiian shirts, which ran from 1980 to 1988 on CBS. I say that Selleck was a supporting actor because the star of _Magnum, P.I. _was clearly Selleck's legendary mustache.

**The Corsican Syndrome: **As most _G.I. Joe _fans ought to already know, the Crimson Twins, Tomax and Xamot, share an empathic connection that enables them to feel each other's pain. The idea that identical twins share a sort of psychic connection is an old one. It's a situation commonly referred to as "The Corsican Syndrome", which gets its name from the 1844 novella _The Corsican Brothers_, written by Alexandre Dumas (_The Three Musketeers_, _The Count of Monte Cristo_), about two conjoined brothers who, even after being separated, could still feel each other's pain.

**Medivac** is simply short for "medical evacuation"—that is, an effort by medical personnel to remove wounded soldiers from the battlefield.

**Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man:** While climbing the jumplines on the Extensive Enterprises building, Lady Jaye calls Scarlett "Peter Parker". If you don't know who that is, _shame on you._

Speaking of Spider-Man, I should point out that the lyrics that open this chapter, from Bono and the Edge's _**Boy Falls From The Sky**_, are from the Broadway musical _Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark_. I haven't seen it yet but I'm dying to—I love comic books and super hero stories, and Spider-Man is certainly one of my favorite super heroes. The best thing about Spider-Man is that he was one of the first relatable super heroes—he had real people problems. Sure, Superman can't hug Lois Lane without worrying he'd crush her and stuff, and there's the whole kryptonite thing, but the Man of Steel still has it pretty good compared to Spider-Man—he's a nerd with holes in his pockets who's constantly picked on by the very people he works so hard to protect. It's easy to read a comic book and say something like, "Oh, Snake Eyes is so totally badass!" or "Captain America is so handsome and heroic!" but the thing about Spider-Man is, I look at him and think, "I want this guy to be my best friend." You just know you can always count on a guy like Spider-Man, and that is special—that is so special.

This story gets longer every time I sit down in front of it. **Next chapter: **Snake Eyes, Zap, Spirit, Timber and Freedom plan a jailbreak, which will be greatly aided by the short attention span of the Dreadnoks. Meanwhile, Lady Jaye and Scarlett try to convince the gang members that they're being hoodwinked by Cobra, which will go about as well as you'd expect.


	4. Automatic Toys For Automatic Girls

**Author's Introduction:**

**Disclaimer:** You guys know the deal by now—Hasbro owns the rights, I'm making no money, I'm doing this for fun—so let's hope you all have fun reading.

**A note to Rogue-Scholar07:** Rogue, if you're still reading, it's awesome you're going to cosplay Zarana! You're going to look great. Wish I could be there to see that. *smiles.* I'm setting up my Scarlett cosplay for this fall's New York Comic Con—my college buddy and I had such fun cosplaying at last year's that we've decided to do it again this year and just reuse the costumes for Halloween, which is two weeks after the con. I cosplayed Claire Redfield of _Resident Evil_ last year (she did a terrific Katniss Everdeen from _The Hunger Games_), but I admit that was rather easy for me (my embroiderer did most of the work) so this year I've decided to try something harder—and who better, I thought, than the coolest redhead in the service? I'd also like to extend a special thank-you to **Bronwynn** for encouragement and listening to me ramble on about the Joes we all know and love.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_a G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Four: Automatic Toys For Automatic Girls<span>**

_This is the end of the world so it seems  
>I've got automatic love for automatic girl<br>This is the world of the end that I see  
>I've got automatic guns for automatic boys<br>Automatic toys for automatic girls  
>Everything keeps the right melody<br>I've got a couple of killing machines  
>Couple of killing machines<em>

**(Lola Ray, _Automatic Girl_)**

* * *

><p>For the second time since embarking on their ill-fated mission, Snake Eyes, Zap, Spirit, Timber and Freedom were being held prisoner by jailers who weren't old enough to legally buy alcohol.<p>

The Joes were locked in a small abandoned generator room in the subway, far below the city streets, and it frustrated Snake Eyes to think that Scarlett and Lady Jaye could very well be walking above their heads right this very minute, and there was no way to know or to signal them. The Joes had a limited view outside their prison through a small barred window in the thick door; Spirit's obsidian gaze was scanning the area beyond the room intensely, waiting for any chance to turn the tide in their favor. Freedom perched patiently on the tall tracker's shoulder , careful not to snag his talons on one of Spirit's heavy, dark braids. Zap, the most impatient of the captured Joes, was leaning against the door, staring through the bars as though he'd try to push his way out into the room. Snake Eyes himself hung towards the back of their improvised cell, wanting time to react should an opportunity arise for action. Timber sat at his feet, waiting but wary; a growl trickled out of the wolf's jaws as he sensed movement beyond the bars.

The three teenaged gang members crowded around the door, each holding a laser pistol, ready to cook anybody who twitched.

That was another reason Snake Eyes was inclined not to make himself an easy target by keeping close to the cell door. The gang members were not trained in these weapons, and he'd seen already how volatile and unpredictable they could be—Pilar had thrown a grenade in a subway tunnel with absolutely no regard for a possible cave-in or for the safety of her friends, and she'd tackled him to the ground in the path of a subway train and nearly gotten them both killed. Likewise, the two boys flanking her had destroyed a wooden platform in the park and carelessly sent shrapnel flying into the crowd, swinging flail chains around with abandon. These kids were jumpy and they were looking for an excuse; no need to give them one just yet.

Snake Eyes had the feeling that the Joes were still better off with the weapons in the hands of the gang members rather than the Dreadnoks; as soon as they'd locked up their prisoners, the lazy mercenaries had predictably handed all responsibility off to the kids and kicked back to gloat about their assumed victory. The three bikers lounged on the now-defunct generators' metal housings without paying any more attention to their captives, and it annoyed the commando that the Dreadnoks had already written the Joes off as beaten. He made a mental note to take that out of their hides later, on principal.

Before Snake Eyes could lapse too far into a fantasy of beating some respect into the Dreadnoks, footsteps heralded the arrival of yet more Cobra soldiers, and as soon as Snake saw who it was, every muscle tensed and adrenaline spiked through his blood.

Storm Shadow walked calmly towards the group of mercenaries, his white uniform shining through the underground gloom, a troop of red-suited Crimson Guards at his back. In an odd moment of solidarity with their captives, the Dreadnoks didn't look happy to see him. "'Ello, what's this?" Buzzer sneered. "Reinforcements, now that the battle's over?"

Storm Shadow's voice was as calm as ever; he gave no sign that he acknowledged the insult. "Not until you have read this message," he responded, holding a white envelope out towards the blond Dreadnok, but Buzzer shrugged irritably and turned rudely away from the Cobra ninja instead of taking it.

"Pfft," he muttered. "'As Cobra hired you as a delivery boy, now? Why'nt you just tell us wot it says?"

That was too much for Storm Shadow; his eyes, the only part of his face visible through the opening in his mask, hardened to gray agate, the muscles around them tightening almost imperceptibly. A casual observer would not notice a change, but being well-versed in both discipline and wearing masks, it was clear to Snake Eyes that the other ninja commando was visibly leashing his temper.

Holding up the note, Storm Shadow tossed it gently into the air above his head, where it caught the slight breeze running through the subway tunnel. Unsheathing the katana from the scabbard on his back with a metallic _snick_, the white-garbed ninja sliced the air with two quick strikes, one across, one down. The envelope, now in two pieces, floated down to the tunnel floor while Storm Shadow reached out to take the message, which was still intact. While it might have been lost on the Dreadnoks, the message was clear to anyone with half a brain—_I can do that to your face if I wish_.

Despite himself, Snake Eyes smirked behind his mask. _Show-off_.

Storm Shadow unfolded the message with an abrupt, irritated flick of his wrist, and began to read. "_To ensure victory, the final rally will include some special fireworks developed by Firefly._ _The plan is going well. Take care not to fail. Zartan_."

Snake Eyes' teeth clicked together in reaction to this news. He didn't bother signing, not wanting to alarm his fellow Joes, but they were thinking along the same lines—"I said, this ain't gonna be nothin', Duke," Zap groused, just above a whisper. "I said, piece of cake. Now we got Storm Shadow, Firefly…"

…_Bobby Maxwell, Colonel Dietrich and Colonel Kurtz,_ Snake Eyes finished mentally with a roll of his eyes. _Why don't they just bring in Darth Vader to bat cleanup?_

"Rubbish!" Buzzer, who clearly had no concept of what would put his life in danger, snatched the note out of Storm Shadow's hand, and it was almost worth it to see someone get the better of the white-clad ninja for a second. Crumpling the note while Storm Shadow blinked in outrage, Buzzer seized the Cobra commando's supply bag and rifled through it. Coming up with a roll of money, he waved it at Storm Shadow before dividing it amongst himself, Ripper and Torch, declaring, "This 'ere's the only insurance against failure!"

Walking over to the three gang members, Buzzer gave them each a much smaller share of the cash, although judging by the way the kids' eyes lit up at the sight of the money, Snake Eyes was sure they hadn't noticed. "Tonight's the big night," Buzzer said to the kids, his voice oozing with false cheer. "So 'ere, take off an' get some rest!"

Shouts of delight could be heard from the gang members as they huddled to compare their spoils. "Hey! Come on! Let's party!" the kid named Rick cheered, and his cohorts followed him down the subway tunnel, presumably towards a street exit.

Before Snake Eyes could process that the Dreadnoks would be back in charge, they handed responsibility off once more—this time to the Crimson Guards. "We're gonna take off too," Ripper announced, hopping off the generator housing and striding towards where Buzzer waited. "You guys watch them Joes. Make sure they stay put!"

Torch chuckled, following his fellow Dreadnok out with a jingle of chains. "Not that they're goin' anywhere, moind you!"

Storm Shadow wasn't keen on sticking around, either—turning towards the Siegies, he declared, "Failure will be costly!" and strode off in the direction the others had gone, his posture ramrod-straight as he departed the tunnel.

Each Joe in the cell snapped to attention when they heard all this unfold; even Timber's ears pricked up. A changing of the guard could mean an opportunity for escape, and the odds had increased considerably in their favor—dealing with six Crimson Guards was a damn sight better than facing down six Crimson Guards, a ninja, three bikers and a street gang.

Snake Eyes smiled behind his mask. Things were looking up.

* * *

><p>It didn't take Lady Jaye and Scarlett long to figure out where they should head next. The two Joes each took a side of the street and began systematically working their way down the shops, purchasing something small in each—a newspaper, a cup of coffee—and striking up a conversation with whoever was ringing them up. By the time they met up again at the end of the block, Scarlett had a sixteen-ounce bottle of Coca-Cola, a lottery ticket, a bottle of aspirin and the descriptions of a few of the major troublemakers in town; Lady Jaye had a copy of <em>Vogue<em>, a cup of coffee, a lipstick, and the cross streets where the gangs tended to congregate after they were done with the day's mayhem.

"Nice work," Jaye said, downing the rest of the coffee and crushing the cup in her hand before tossing it and the copy of _Vogue_ into the nearest trash bin—she'd already read this month's issue, anyway. The lipstick she pocketed; couldn't hurt to keep that, she thought amusedly. "Hang on to that aspirin, Scarlett—I have a feeling we're going to need it before this op is over."

"I need it already," Scarlett laughed as she pitched the now nearly-empty Coke bottle into the trash can on top of Jaye's discarded magazine, and the two women began heading in the direction Jaye had been given by the guy who ran the newsstand. "If what the pharmacist told me is true, we may have already seen some of these gang leaders today. Apparently the kid who leads the Fugitives hangs around a lot with a girl who runs another gang—he said they're always doing their Mutt and Jeff act around here. She's the brains, and he's the muscle—the pharmacist says she's the one to watch out for. His description of them sounds a lot like the kids we ran into in the park today, the ones on the motorcycles."

"If _any_ of these punks had any brains, they wouldn't be working for Cobra!" Lady Jaye said. "O.K., I think we turn left here."

After a few blocks, it became evident that they were heading in the right direction—loud rock music bounced off the sides of buildings and the streets became more crowded. Lady Jaye and Scarlett followed the noise pollution down a side street and discovered a sizeable group of young people camped out in clusters all over the block, some lounging on stoops, others huddled around boom boxes. Some were dancing—one boy was executing a barrel spin on the hood of a car parked near the avenue; another was in the center of a circle of clapping youths, demonstrating his moonwalk. Every group of kids with a stereo had the music cranked up to a teeth-rattling volume.

"You're right," Scarlett said to Lady Jaye, shaking the bottle of aspirin. "I'm glad I kept this."

Lady Jaye nodded, her mouth set in a grim line as the throbbing beat assaulted her exhausted senses. "Save me some."

After twenty minutes of getting stonewalled talking to whoever stood still long enough to listen to them, the two Joes were beyond frustrated. "O.K., forget what I said about it being easy to get anyone to listen to us," Scarlett said, drawing her crossbow. "I'm ready to start threatening people. Jaye?"

Lady Jaye was busy arguing with a breakdancer who'd paused his routine purely out of curiosity about the two women in the strange getups who'd crashed their party. "We _need_ a meeting with the gang leaders," Jaye pressed. "It's imperative. Life and death," she emphasized, but it did little to ruffle the placid dancer.

"Whose life and death?" he asked blithely, toprocking to the beat thumping from the stereo at the curb. "Not mine."

Lady Jaye clawed her hands in frustration, and Scarlett, imagining the citizen's complaint forms flying in to Hawk's office, stepped quickly in front of her to block. Luckily, before Jaye could vent her spleen on the irritating breakdancer, a small voice piped up from the stoop they were standing in front of. "_I_ know one of the gang leaders."

The two Joes turned to see a small, slight, dark-haired boy get up from his seat on the stoop. He was wearing torn jeans, a pair of less-than-reputable tennis shoes and a camouflage t-shirt that was too big for him; he'd tucked it into his jeans but it billowed out over his belt. When he smiled, his teeth flashed white in his tanned face.

"Who are you?" Scarlett demanded, blue eyes suspicious.

"Who _cares_ who he is?" Lady Jaye said. Night had fallen around them while they were getting nowhere questioning civilians; they hadn't seen or heard from their missing comrades in hours. But the mission was first and foremost, and there was a Cobra plot afoot that had to be stopped before they could even begin looking for the lost Joes. Any lead, even if it came from a little kid, was worth pursuing at this point. "Take us to him," she ordered sternly, stepping towards the boy, but the kid gave no ground—not surprising, when the sight of their weapons hadn't intimidated him. Blinking, Jaye realized that it gave credence to the idea of him running with the gangs.

"_Her_," the boy corrected her sharply. "And what do _I_ get if I help you? I've got my future to think of! I'm ten already!"

Lady Jaye was in no mood to haggle. Letting her hands drift down to her belt like a gunslinger, she narrowed her eyes and gave him her best Clint Eastwood growl. "Wanna see eleven, kid?"

Surprisingly, the kid rocked back on his heels and laughed. "You're tough," he said appreciatively. "O.K. Twenty bucks and I'll take you to Pilar Vasquez. But first I gotta know what you want with her."

It was easy for someone like Lady Jaye to look patient next to Scarlett—the redhead had a well-known reputation among G.I. Joe for being a hothead and it wasn't just due to her hair color. But it would have been foolish to assume Jaye wasn't just as much of a powderkeg just because she had a long, slow-burning fuse. This kid had reached the end of it. Eyes on fire, the corporal stepped into the kid again, hand curling into a claw to grab him by the collar. "Why you _little_—"

Scarlett put a soothing hand on Jaye's shoulder, holding her gently back. While she wasn't often called upon to be the diplomat, she was just as worried about their missing comrades as Lady Jaye was, and fighting with a ten-year-old would get them nowhere.

"She's my sister!" the kid protested. "I gotta look out for her! Let me hold your weapons until after the meeting."

Lady Jaye shook her head. "That's out of the question. We'll find her ourselves."

The smug look returned to the boy's face; he knew he had them over a barrel. "I guess you could _try_…"

Scarlett sighed, drawing a twenty-dollar bill like magic from somewhere behind her breastplate. "Right. And _maybe_ we'd find her sometime before the _next_ election." Shaking her head, she added, "We've already had enough trouble for one day. If we keep going the way we've been, we're going to get lost or killed. There's no choice, Lady Jaye."

Reluctantly, the two Joes relinquished Scarlett's crossbow and bolts along with Lady Jaye's javelins and knife. The kid's grin nearly split his face as he pocketed the twenty and shouldered their quivers, brandishing Scarlett's crossbow. "Pleasure doing business with you, ladies!"

"Yeah, and the pleasure's all yours," Lady Jaye said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, which only made the kid laugh harder.

"Right this way!"

"It better be," Lady Jaye snarled as she and Scarlett began to follow the pint-sized punk down the block.

Scarlett smiled encouragingly at Lady Jaye. "Tell you what. If this kid leads us on a wild goose chase, I'll hold him down and you can punch him."

Despite herself, Jaye grinned. "Deal." It was worth noting that the kid cast a wary glance over his shoulder when he heard that, and while he hid it quickly, he put a little more distance between himself and the Joes.

"You know, I distinctly remember us thinking this detail was going to be a big joke," Scarlett remarked as they passed by a closed shop whose metal shutter had colorful graffiti all over it. "Now Cobra's on the scene, and we're following a tween."

"Car 54, where are you?" Lady Jaye quipped, and the Joes shared a smile.

Their destination ended up being a small, well-lit shop off the side street. It had a large front window with bright painted letters advertising candy and a soda fountain. A pair of neat flowerboxes were below the window; the happy-colored flowers were well taken care of. "Right in here, ladies," the kid said grandly, the little bell over the door jingling to announce their arrival. "Take good care of 'em, Mama," the kid instructed a plump older woman behind the counter. "I'll be right out." He strode through a door on the opposite side of the room and shut it behind him.

Lady Jaye and Scarlett exchanged glances. Whatever they had been expecting, Jaye thought, this shop was not it. The place was immaculate; the tabletops and counter were made of Formica, likely because it was easy to clean; the stools and chairs were upholstered in vinyl. The jars on the shelves and behind the counter were full of brightly-colored candy—licorice whips, jellybeans, peppermint sticks, taffy. A fan spun lazily overhead.

The round little woman behind the counter had a prematurely aged face; worry had deepened the lines around her forehead and mouth, but her dark eyes were bright and alert. Her glossy dark hair lay on her shoulders, a little tangled as though she'd been rushing around for the day; her hands were rough. This was a woman who worked hard for her living, which only confused Lady Jaye more—the kid had called her "Mama", and had said that the gang leader Pilar was his sister. How had the children of a woman with a reputable local business ended up running with street gangs?

The two Joes and the shop owner regarded each other uncomfortably for a long moment. Finally the woman's face crumpled in worry. "Have you come to arrest my Pilar?"

"We're not police, Mrs. Vasquez," Scarlett soothed.

Mrs. Vasquez seemed to fold in on herself. "She's really a good girl, deep down," she assured them tiredly, as though she'd been saying it for a very long time. "Sometimes so deep you can't find it, though."

Before Lady Jaye or Scarlett could say anything comforting, shouts were heard from the adjoining room, the kid's pre-pubescent vocal chords cracking in indignation. "But Pilar, they paid money!"

"Money you had no right to take!" The door opened and a Valkyrie of a teenager stormed into the shop, Scarlett's crossbow in her hand. She wore sandals, pegged pants and a cropped t-shirt, and her short hair was cut very close to her head, leaving a pretty face open and clean. Gold jewelry sparkled at her ears and wrist. Her face was an adolescent copy of her mother's, but her expression was far fiercer; she marched right up to the two Joes with a challenging look on her face, as if she expected them both to charge her at any second.

"Pilar Vasquez, I presume," Scarlett murmured.

"My brother Tito says you paid to talk to me," she said imperiously, drawing herself up to her full height. "Talk fast!"

Lady Jaye was ready with the same bravado that had earlier impressed the young Tito, stabbing the air between them with her index finger. "O.K., sister, how's this? You and your gang have been had. Cobra's using you to help Harper get elected. And once Harper's in, you and your pals get the royal dump—right into jail." Spearing the younger woman with a ferocious gaze, Jaye finished, "Is that fast enough?"

Scarlett hid a smile, but Pilar was not impressed by this display of machismo. "You lie," she hissed.

Oddly, it was Mrs. Vasquez who interrupted. "How do you know? Please, _listen_ for once, Pilar!" she begged her daughter.

Unfortunately, Pilar's dark eyes were hardening as she convinced herself of the scenario she found most acceptable. "Cobra protects us, gives us money!" she insisted. "_You_ want to take it away—that's all! Why…why should I believe _you_?" Brandishing a roll of bills she took from her pocket, she waved it at the two Joes. "_This_ I can believe!"

Lady Jaye and Scarlett exchanged glances, unsure of how to proceed, but before either could do anything, the door to the adjoining room opened again and four red-jacketed gang members came striding into the room, faces belligerent beneath their greased-back hair. "I think this little conversation's gone on long enough!" one of them declared, and the four toughs advanced on the two unarmed Joes.

Mrs. Vasquez clasped her hands to her mouth. "Oh! Oh, no," she lamented, then ducked behind the countertop almost reflexively, as though she'd had a lot of practice taking cover in her own shop.

Lady Jaye fought a wild urge to laugh—it was just too ridiculous, with the four teens marching ominously across the room in their matching outfits like Sharks and Jets, looking like they were about to break into song and leap into a choreographed fight sequence with the friendly candy jars as a backdrop. But the danger the Joes were about to be in was nothing to laugh about; it was the rooftop all over again. Unarmed, unable to use excessive force on civilian children, and with nowhere to run, Jaye and Scarlett found themselves backing up, simultaneously hopping up onto the table near the front window rather than allow any of the youths to seize them.

That was just fine with the gang members. They simply exchanged glances and reached out—not for either Joe, but for the table. Lifting it in a team effort, they tipped both table and Joes backward, and for the second time that day Lady Jaye found herself falling through a window in a rain of broken glass. This landing wasn't as lucky as the first; shards of window and bits of gravel tore her exposed arms as she rolled across the pavement, Scarlett a bright pinwheel at the corner of her vision. The redhead hissed in a breath, pausing to yank a piece of glass out of a shallow cut on her shoulder, and that gave the gang members the precious few seconds they needed to leap through the broken window and press their advantage. One of the toughs pounced on Scarlett from behind, riding her down and fisting one hand in her hair. Lady Jaye had just enough time to see him press Scarlett's cheek against the concrete before her own attempt to trench-crawl toward her friend was stalled by a motorcycle boot to the stomach.

Coughing, Lady Jaye curled up reflexively, shielding her face and trying to relearn how to breathe, but another kick to her back had stars blinking behind her closed eyes.

"Leave her alone, you cowards," Scarlett challenged from somewhere beyond the pain. "Is your big tough leader too scared to do her own dirty work?"

The two boys who were on Lady Jaye left off kicking her, although one kept a boot pressed to the back of her neck to remind her of his presence. The other knelt clumsily by Scarlett's side and delivered a vicious jab to the face that made Jaye wince.

"Enough!" Pilar had clearly heard Scarlett insult her; now she strode out of the candy shop with the redhead's crossbow in her hand and murder in her eyes. The four boys gave her ground, one each on Scarlett and Lady Jaye; they held the Joes down as Pilar aimed the crossbow. Luckily, her shaky stance revealed her total unfamiliarity with the weapon; with any luck, she'd miss and give the Joes a chance to regain their feet.

"_I'll_ finish this," Pilar announced importantly, sighting down on Scarlett, who responded by defiantly spitting blood at the gang leader. Lady Jaye let out a shaky breath, fixing her gaze determinedly on her friend—if Scarlett was brave enough to spit in the face of her own death, then damn it, Jaye was going to be brave enough not to look away.

The wind kicked up, ruffling Lady Jaye's short hair and whipping Scarlett's ponytail against the pavement, but it wasn't just a cross breeze—the sound of metal blades distracted Pilar and drew everyone's attention skyward. A heavily armored G.I. Joe Dragonfly was descending from the night sky like an avenging angel, hovering close enough that Lady Jaye could see their rescuers through the smeary canopy glass—Wild Bill and Quick Kick.

"Let's get out of here!" one of the red-jacketed gang members shouted, and they quickly turned tail and disappeared down the street. Looking around and realizing the odds had evened, Pilar panicked, dropping Scarlett's crossbow and grabbing her little brother by his scruff.

"Hey!" Tito yelped, Lady Jaye's quiver of javelins falling from his hands.

"Come on, hurry!" Pilar snapped, hauling Tito down the block and ducking into an alley.

Lady Jaye closed her eyes briefly, breathing a quick prayer of thanks. "Just in the nick of time," she said.

"No kidding." Scarlett rolled smoothly to a sitting position, reaching eagerly for her crossbow like it was a favorite toy. The relief in her face at having her weapon back in her hands was evident, offsetting the unsettling sight of her wounded mouth, lips cherry-bright with her own blood.

"You all right?" Lady Jaye asked, getting to her feet and dusting off her fatigue pants before reaching to help Scarlett up.

The redhead accepted the hand and let Jaye haul her to her feet. "Yeah. It looks worse than it is. What about you? Anything broken?"

Jaye took a breath, which only hurt a little. "Don't think so, but thanks for trying to distract them."

Scarlett snorted. "You're welcome, for all the good it did. All it would have bought you was thirty more seconds." She frowned as the downdraft from the Dragonfly's propeller sent her red tail of hair streaming behind her like a flag. "It's too bad we have to keep pulling our punches with these punks," she groused, turning a filthy look back towards the shop. "That brat would have shot me with my own weapon. And I'd have died, all right—of _embarrassment_!"

"Well, don't forget, they're just kids." Lady Jaye smiled wryly. "And to be fair, I wasn't too keen on getting shot with _your_ weapon, either!"

"You're one tough broad, Lady Jaye," the redhead chuckled. "Come on, let's go thank our heroes."

"Well, howdy, ladies!" Wild Bill said, popping the canopy to the Dragonfly and sweeping his cowboy hat off gallantly. "It looks like yer havin' quite the interestin' night!"

"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie, Wild Bill," Scarlett agreed cheerfully. "Thanks for the rescue."

"Thank Duke," Quick Kick said. "He figured something went south when you two weren't answering your radios. What'd you do, lose 'em?"

Reflexively, Lady Jaye and Scarlett each checked for their communications equipment, blinking when they realized their radios were gone. "I left my headset with the bikes," Scarlett realized, putting her fingers through the empty loop on her belt. "We had to pursue on foot, and I must have lost my handset when we went through the window."

"Window?" Quick Kick asked, brow creasing.

"Or when we, you know, fell off the skyscraper." Lady Jaye said this with an eyeroll. "I'll bet mine ended up in the dumpster with Tomax and Xamot."

Wild Bill's brows disappeared almost into his hat. "You ladies _have_ been busy today."

"You don't even know the half of it," Lady Jaye sighed, getting into the back of the Dragonfly next to Quick Kick. "Oh, my aching ribs."

"Breaker couldn't get a hold of Zap or Snake Eyes or Spirit either," Quick Kick continued. "They're off the radar completely, and for whatever reason, their radios aren't working. Duke didn't like the sound of it, so he sent us in on a search-and-rescue. Would have come himself, but Hawk's got him in meetings with D.I. about some project they want the unit's help with."

"Domestic Intelligence?" Scarlett said, looking puzzled as she climbed into the Dragonfly beside Wild Bill. "What's the project?"

Quick Kick shrugged, a fluid movement of his bare shoulders. "The scuttlebutt around the Pit is that Cobra's trying to recruit soldiers with extrasensory powers, so D.I. wants G.I. Joe to have a counterforce ready. Duke thinks the whole thing's a bunch of bunk, and he's not keen on the fact that some of the test subjects are civilians, but when Hawk says jump, Duke's got to say 'on who?'"

Scarlett laughed. "Well, Duke was psychic enough to know _we_ needed a hand here. Thank him for us, won't you?"

"We'll do better than that, we'll bring you back home and you can thank him yerself!" Wild Bill chuckled.

"Not just yet," Lady Jaye said, putting a hand on Wild Bill's shoulder. "Take us up, cowboy. We've still got three Joes, a bird and a wolf among the missing!"

* * *

><p>Timber was pacing their makeshift cell like it was a cage at the zoo; Snake Eyes had attempted to calm his furry friend earlier, but eventually let him have his way; he didn't blame the wolf for feeling restless. He felt like they'd been in the cell for hours; all that was missing was some bad clichéd harmonica music.<p>

Zap had found a way to pass the time; he was at the small barred window, taunting the Crimson Guards. They were lined up with their backs to the door, as though protecting the cell from an attack from the outside rather than treating the captive Joes as a danger. After an accusation of their parentage being in question and a colorful list of all the things he'd wished they'd do to themselves, Zap had moved on to mocking their business operations. "You Cobras aren't ambitious enough," the artillery expert accused. "Why limit yourself to fixing elections? Why not the World Series, too?"

One of the Siegies had finally had enough; he broke formation and strode angrily towards the cell door, thrusting his laser rifle clumsily through the bars. "Silence!" he roared. "Got that?"

Luckily for the Joes, Timber had been on his fifty-second trip around their tiny prison; he was in perfect position to leap up and seize the muzzle of the rifle in his mighty jaws. Letting gravity pull for him, he landed, and the guard leaned further through the bars to try and hang on to his weapon. Spirit was ready to lend a hand, grabbing the barrel of the rifle; a brief struggle ensued as the two men grappled for the weapon. The rifle turned skyward as the guard leaned back with all his weight and the weapon spoke, firing into the ceiling. The report seemed to shake the entire tunnel, leaving a flash and the smell of ozone to mark its passing.

The rest of the Siegies had turned their rifles onto the cell, but Spirit wasn't about to make it easy for them; he'd locked one muscular arm around the first guard's neck in a choke hold, jerking him back against the bars. The guard was almost off the ground, feet scrabbling for purchase; he flung one hand out in desperate supplication to his fellow guards as they sighted down on the cell door. Inside the cell, Spirit hugged the wall, taking as much cover as possible while using the guard as a shield.

"N-no!" the captive guard choked out. "Don't shoot!"

One guard began squeezing down on his trigger, but the shot never came—the walls of the tunnel echoed with the sweetest words the captives had heard all day—"Yo Joe!"

At the sound of the voices, Snake Eyes and Zap rushed to the window and saw a most welcome sight—Lady Jaye, Quick Kick and Scarlett had pried open a grating at street level and leaped into the tunnel, surprising the Crimson Guards. Jaye drew a javelin from her quiver and flung it, the weapon falling just short of where the guards were clustered. She hadn't missed her target, however—the flashpacket rigged to the javelin exploded on impact, temporarily blinding the guards and sending them scattering like panicked rabbits.

Spirit tightened his hold on the guard he held captive until the hands scratching at his forearm grew weaker; when he was sure his prisoner was desperate for oxygen, he released the guard and watched him slump dazedly to the floor.

The remaining Crimson Guards began firing at Lady Jaye, Quick Kick and Scarlett. Quick Kick simply leaped out of the way of the bolts aimed at him, turning his fall into a smooth shoulder roll. Without even bothering to straighten up, he swung one leg around in a sweep and knocked one Siegie's feet out from under him; the guard's rifle slid to a corner of the tunnel as he lay stunned, sitting in his own surprise.

Scarlett had jumped backwards instead, her strong legs carrying her over the shots fired at her. Using the wall as a springboard, she launched herself at the guards and aimed her crossbow, sending a bolt right through the hand of the guard shooting at her. With a strangled cry of pain, the guard stopped shooting and began waving his arm clumsily, comically unable to release the now-useless weapon that the bolt had pinned to his hand.

"Bullseye!" Scarlett crowed, one eye winking above a bloodthirsty grin. "Guess you're…um…wait, I had something for this." The redhead frowned, dropping her crossbow to her side as she struggled for a zinger, then shook her head and decided there were more pressing matters at hand.

While Scarlett and Quick Kick dealt with the guards, Jaye drew another javelin and aimed at the cell door. "Fire in the hole!" she called out, and Zap, Spirit and Snake Eyes backed up towards the far wall, keeping the animals out of blast range. Another javelin struck the latch on the locked door, the impact triggering another flashpacket rigged to the speartip; the concussion made short work of the lock and the door swung open.

Snake Eyes wasn't able to join his friends in their battle cry vocally, but he certainly joined in spirit as they burst out of the cell. "Yo Joe!"

Timber looked almost wild to be out of the tiny cage; he pounced fiercely on the nearest Crimson Guard with a growl, knocking him down. The Siegie's laser rifle dropped out of his hands and went off, the blast taking out one of the load-bearing concrete poles and reducing it to dust. The other guards ducked out of the way of the falling rubble.

"That's enough for me!" the shaky guard declared as he scooted away from the bristling wolf in a most undignified manner. As soon as he could scramble to his feet, he was sprinting down the tunnel away from the battle. Realizing they were outnumbered, the remaining guards quickly joined him, turning tail and fleeing as fast as their feet could carry them. Timber snarled and began to give chase, but Lady Jaye hurried to the wolf's side, staying him with a gentle hand.

"Let them go, Timber," she said wearily. "Let them all go."

Timber snuffled and whined, clearly disappointed at not being able to exact his revenge on the guards, but he quieted and accepted the pat Lady Jaye gave him, circling his Joes to make sure they were all in one piece before making his way back to his master.

Snake Eyes also gave the wolf a comforting pat for a job well done, then turned to Scarlett and pointed at her, then chopping the air perpendicular to his upraised palm. {_You're all right._}

Scarlett grinned. "Yeah, we'll live. You?"

Snake touched his fingers to his mouth, then let his hand move down, displaying his palm. {_Good._} He curled his hands up at chest level, knuckles touching, then turned them over before spreading his fingers and waving his hands back and forth at his waist. Pointing against at Scarlett, he plucked at the air with his index finger and thumb, then indicated himself, Zap, Spirit, Timber and Freedom with a wave of his hand. {_How did you find us?_}

Scarlett pointed towards the still-smoking crater in the ceiling, left when Spirit and the guard had grappled for the laser rifle. "Your little fireworks display was a big help," she said with a smile. "We do manage to catch on when a clue stands up and starts tap-dancing." She turned her head towards the cell, where the last guard was regaining his senses. Putting a hand on Snake Eyes' shoulder, she indicated the rest of the group with a flick of her head. "Let's go lend a hand. We'll talk later, when we're not dead."

Shaking his head, Snake Eyes smiled behind his mask and followed her to where Zap, Spirit and Lady Jaye had surrounded the guard. Breaking through the group, he pointed first to himself, then strode to where the guard lay and helped him to his feet—then _off_ his feet, seizing the man's collar and lifting him clear off the ground. The terrified guard struggled, but the commando had a grip like steel, his free hand curling into a fist and cocking in a fighting stance.

Zap took the helm, his voice dripping with venom as he threatened their captive. "My friend here is a man of action, not words," he said ominously. "So you'd better talk to me before he twists you into the world's first snake-flavored pretzel!"

The guard's eyes were the wide, jumpy eyes of a trapped animal, but he said nothing.

"I want the plan for Cobra's final assault," Zap said, but the guard remained silent. "Snake, please convince him," Zap entreated politely, his tone while speaking to the commando contrasting comically with his harsh berating of the guard. Snake Eyes was happy to oblige by slamming the unlucky Siegie back against the wall—hard. The guard wheezed, the breath knocked out of him, his eyes going glassy behind his visor. "Talk!" Zap demanded.

Panting, the guard relented. "P…political rally," he wheezed. "At the…pier! Blow up the whole…wharf!" he gasped, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and he dangled limply from Snake Eyes' fist, unconscious. The commando dropped the guard in an undignified heap, where he lay against the wall of the now-empty cell.

"Whoa, Snake," Scarlett said appreciatively. "I think you convinced him a little too hard!"

Snake Eyes curled his hand into a fist, thumb raised and knuckles up, then circled it over his chest. {_Sorry._} After a few seconds, he threw his hands up to the side in a sort of shrug, wiggling his fingers, then shook his head. Pointing to himself, he put his fist under his chin, then drew it slightly out towards his friends, thumb extended. {_Wait…no, I'm not._}

The assembled Joes, for the first time all day, indulged in a good laugh.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

**On literacy:** In the episode _Cobra's Candidate_, when Storm Shadow brings the note to the Dreadnoks, Buzzer refuses to take it, saying, "Aw, come on, mate, Cobra Commander knows I can't read." Obviously this is supposed to be a joke (and I admit it does make me laugh when I watch it), but I've taken the liberty of changing the line because in comic canon, Buzzer is in fact probably the smartest Dreadnok—he was a sociologist, for crying out loud. He may be careless, but he's not illiterate.

**On bad guys:** When Zap is griping about all the bad guys who are trooping in to make the odds against them worse, Snake Eyes mentally adds the names of three fictional baddies (one a domestic terrorist like the gang members, the other two corrupt military men like the Cobras) as a joke to himself—Bobby Maxwell from _The Enforcer _(1977), Colonel Dietrich from _Raiders of the Lost Ark _(1981) and Colonel William Kurtz from _Apocalypse Now _(1979). I shouldn't have to explain the Darth Vader reference—if you don't know the Dark Lord of the Sith, shame on you. *winks.*

**Mutt and Jeff: **_Mutt and Jeff_ was a newspaper comic that began in 1907 and ran for half a century. It was about a tall, gangly gambler and his pint-sized cohort and their get-rick-quick schemes—but you might hear the term used to describe any duo that consists of a big person and a small person.

"**Car 54, where are you?": **_Car 54, Where Are You? _was a sitcom about two NYPD officers who got into hijinks in their patrol car in my beloved city of New York, specifically in the Bronx, where I didn't grow up, but lots of my large Irish family did. _Car 54_ ran on NBC in the early 60's. Its theme song was corny and catchy, and rhymed in the cadence of the quips tossed back and forth by Scarlett and Jaye in this chapter.

**Domestic Intelligence: **When Quick Kick is explaining how Duke sent them in on the search-and-rescue (an artistic liberty I took; it's never explained why Wild Bill and Quick Kick miraculously show up when Lady Jaye and Scarlett are in trouble…you can only cram so much exposition into a twenty-four minute episode I guess), a reference is made to another Sunbow _G.I. Joe_ episode, _Operation Mind Menace_.

"**Wait, I had something for this":** Scarlett trying to come up with a witty remark while fighting (and subsequently failing) is anachronistic—she's quoting an oft-repeated line from my latest favorite animated series, FX's raunchy and hilarious _Archer._

**Next chapter: **Things come to a head as both the gang and the Joes crash Harper's rally down at the wharf. Let's all just be glad Firefly and Michael Bay never had occasion to meet each other.


	5. The Phoenix For The Flame

**Author's Introduction:**

**Disclaimer:** You guys know the drill—Hasbro owns the rights, I own nothing, I'm making no money off this; it's for entertainment purposes only. At least I hope it entertains someone.

This chapter was originally supposed to be even longer, but this story is mutating at such an exponential rate I had to ring the alarm and beg my beta to help me pick a place to cut it in half. So hopefully chapter six will come a little faster than this one did, but who knows? This story was originally supposed to be a one-shot, and look what happened. *chuckles.*

Thanks to **Bronwynn** for checking up on me-I was a little slower posting this time around, but we're getting into the subplots of the story now, so the terrain's a little rougher. Still hacking away at it, though *^_^*

**Wishes do come true!:** When I opened chapter three with lyrics from _Boy Falls From The Sky_, a song from the Broadway musical _Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark_, I hadn't seen the play yet but had been dying to. It was my birthday last Wednesday, and a couple of weeks ago, my college buddy (the one who cosplayed Katniss at last year's NYCC) surprised me with a Spider-Man card containing tickets to the show! Let me tell you, it's the most fun thing I've ever seen and the music is amazing—Reeve Carney is so very talented. If you're ever in New York, I'd recommend it!

Happy Valentine's Day! *cuddles her valentine, a big plush wolf named, of course, Timber*

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Five: The Phoenix For The Flame<span>**

_The first crystal tears fall as snowflakes on your body  
>The first time in years to drench your skin with lover's rosy stain<br>A chance to find the phoenix for the flame  
>A chance to die<br>But can we dance into the fire, that fatal kiss is all we need  
>Dance into the fire to fatal sounds of broken dreams<br>Dance into the fire, that fatal kiss is all we need  
>Dance into the fire<br>When all we see is the view to a kill_

**(Duran Duran, _A View To A Kill_)**

* * *

><p>The Cobra Moray cut neatly through the bay beneath a glittering tableau of starlight, and Zartan could practically hear the fuses burning in his companion's head. A night like this <em>would<em> be too quiet for Firefly; the saboteur was hardly happy unless something was exploding. Carnage was his specialty, fire and flame his medium, and like any true artist, he was passionate about his craft—the eyes that burned behind his balaclava became almost romantically hazy when a detonator was pressed and a chain reaction set the horizon ablaze.

It was…unnerving.

Zartan was aware that the Commander felt secure in their ability to keep their pet demolitions expert in line; Firefly's only god was money, and there was plenty of that to convince him to behave himself. Still, anyone who dealt with the masked saboteur got the distinct impression that he regarded the paychecks as a mere bonus—it was the boom-boom he really looked forward to, and anything else was gravy. He worked for Cobra not just because they paid him to, but because he got to blow more things up and kill more people that way. There was no mistaking it—Firefly was insane, and it was that which made him dangerous, even more so than the explosive devices he set with such care.

_With friends like these_…, the mercenary thought whimsically, then checked himself. Despite the almost audible madness that bubbled just beneath the gray fatigues that Firefly wrapped himself in, he was good insurance at a time like this, and he was the weapon they needed right now. Zartan's ability to infiltrate would hardly help at the political rally; he had sent the Dreadnoks to manage the teenage gang members they'd brought on for crowd control, and now all that was left was one final, big display of force to scare the local voters into backing Cobra's candidate. The only thorn in their path was the usual threat of interference from G.I. Joe, and Cobra was ready to take them out with a bang—a _big _bang, if Firefly was lighting the fuse.

"I've planned for all possibilities." Firefly's gravelly voice spoke up without prompting, as though he could hear his companion's thoughts. Zartan turned slightly, startled out of his thoughts, the breeze over the bay ruffling his thick hair. The saboteur regarded him evenly, answering the unasked question. "Would you like to see our G.I. Joe insurance?"

Arching a brow as he folded his arms over his chest, Zartan smiled. "But of course."

Reaching into a pocket on his fatigue pants, Firefly pulled something out almost eagerly, and again Zartan was aware of the possibility for lunacy crackling just beneath the saboteur's excited stance—now, he displayed a remote detonator proudly to the mercenary, as if he were a child sharing his favorite toy, an expression that looked almost obscene on a masked man showing off an instrument of death and destruction.

"Each explosive will be planted in a different empty warehouse around the pier," Firefly explained, pointing out half a dozen buttons on the detonator, which was barely bigger than a pack of playing cards. "And with this I can blow them all at once or in any combination I choose!"

"Interesting little device, Firefly." Zartan reached forward and plucked the detonator out of the saboteur's hand, idly pushing a button to extend its antenna—an unwise move, he realized too late. Firefly's eyes shot wide from behind his balaclava, and he snatched the detonator viciously back from the mercenary.

"There's nothing _little_ about it, swamp breath," Firefly hissed, eyes narrowing to slits of hatred. "_You'll _see. I'll plant the bombs myself. That way there'll be _no _foul-ups!" The masked saboteur swept past Zartan, stalking towards the prow of the Moray with barely leashed fury, flames of instantaneous rage dancing behind his eyes.

Zartan watched him go, exhaling carefully in relief when he realized they were nearing the pier. He made a mental note to let Firefly have his way—and stay as far out of the blast zone as possible. Money was Firefly's only god, but fire—fire was his one true love.

And the most dangerous place to be was between them.

* * *

><p>Ten-year-old Tito Vasquez was excited. It had been a big day for him; he'd made twenty whole dollars setting up a meeting between those ladies in the strange outfits and Pilar, and he didn't care what his big sister said—he'd earned that money, and he was keeping it. He'd even helped Pilar by getting her the ladies' awesome weapons—too bad they'd had to leave them behind when they ran away from that helicopter.<p>

How had those weird ladies gotten a _helicopter_, anyway? And those weapons were _cool_—way better than the chains and things Pilar and her friends used. He didn't know what sort of gang those ladies were in, but they had some primo stuff.

Tito grinned. They'd had cool stuff, but they'd been no match for Pilar and her friends—and he'd helped out, too. Whether Pilar wanted to admit it or not, he was going to be an asset to the gang, and they needed him.

That was why, after things had quieted down and he'd helped Mama sweep up the broken glass and cover up the window that had gotten smashed when Pilar and her friends had chased those ladies out of the shop, he'd sneaked out of his room. He knew Pilar and her friends were going to the political rally down on the wharfs tonight. That old windbag Robert Harper thought he was such a big shot, bringing his rally down to the waterfront to prove he wasn't afraid to go into the "bad" neighborhoods and restore his precious "law and order".

_That old fogey wouldn't last two seconds in my hood!_ Tito thought smugly, jogging down a side street to take a shortcut to the docks. _We'll show him. We'll show him not to mess with us!_

Helping his mother had made Tito late for the rally; it had already started by the time he got to the edge of the crowd around the platform with the big banner that said "Vote Harper". The round little man was behind his podium, blathering on about boring stuff like following rules and cleaning up the streets and blah, blah, blah. Tito tuned him out as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, looking for Pilar.

Luckily, his sister was not one to stay on the sidelines. As soon as Harper said something about making it safe to walk the streets at night again, a volley of fruits and vegetables were launched from the crowd, and Pilar's strong voice rang out. "You haven't got a chance!"

Tito had swiped an onion from his mother's kitchen for exactly this reason; jumping to where Pilar stood, he flung it at the podium and added his voice to hers. "You're nothing!"

But Pilar didn't look happy to see him; her lipsticked mouth became an _o _of surprise, not a smile. "Tito!" she scolded. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to help," he said, as if that should have been obvious.

Pilar shook her head. "You shouldn't have come!" she said, waving her finger at him in a no-no gesture. "You must go home."

Tito couldn't believe his ears. How could she get angry at _him_ for something _she_ was doing herself? It wasn't fair! He pushed her reaching hands away. "Look, I'm old enough to stay here and I'm big enough to fight, too!" To prove his point, he put his smaller hands on her shoulders and gave her a shove—not too hard, but enough to prove he wasn't some dumb kid. Pilar stumbled, but the concerned look on her face didn't fade.

Mocking laughter sounded from behind him; turning, Tito saw big blond Rick and the rest of Pilar's friends. "Big man," Rick jeered, folding his arms in front of his barrel chest. "A little baby like you should be home with his mama!"

Tito was mortified; he'd come here to help Pilar and her friends, and instead of appreciating it, they were _laughing_ at him and calling him names. Rick thought he was such a big deal, pushing people around to impress Pilar. He felt tears welling up in his eyes, but refused to let them come—if he cried in front of them, he'd just be proving he _was_ a baby.

Pilar whirled, turning her anger on her friends. "Stop laughing, you goons!"

Tito was torn; he appreciated Pilar's standing up for him, but she wasn't helping; she was just making him look like a little kid who couldn't fight his own battles. "Who wants to be in your _dumb_ gang anyway?" he blurted out, turning away from their sneering faces. Pushing through the crowd, he ran away as fast as his legs could carry him, the gang's loud laughter ringing in his ears. He could hear Pilar yelling at them, but they just laughed harder and he ran faster, wanting to be as far away from them as possible.

* * *

><p>There was no way to fit all of the Joes in the Dragonfly; Zap and Snake Eyes ended up riding on the skids, but it was a damn sight better than trying to navigate the city on foot. Scarlett knocked on the canopy glass from her side, trying to catch Snake Eyes' attention; the commando knew exactly what she wanted and gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled, nodding. On her side of the Dragonfly, Lady Jaye, her feet propped on Timber's broad back, was raising her voice to ask a grinning Zap the same question—"How're you doing?" The artillery expert made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, keeping a tight hold of the skid.<p>

"According to the message Storm Shadow delivered to the Dreadnoks, we can expect more trouble in the form of Firefly," Spirit said, keeping one eye on Freedom as the eagle flew alongside, keeping pace with the Dragonfly. "He and Zartan are likely lurking near the pier to ensure that the final rally goes as planned tonight."

"I don't see any fireworks yet," Wild Bill commented, moving the Dragonfly smoothly to a lower altitude; they'd spent the entire ride exchanging sit reps to catch each other up. Scarlett and Lady Jaye had reported what they'd learned from their daring stakeout of Extensive Enterprises, and Spirit was wrapping up his explanation of what had gone on in the subway tunnels as they approached their destination. "So far, all quiet on the western front."

"Not for long," Spirit said, pointing. "Look down there."

The tracker was right—as they circled the area where the rally was being held, they could see the same group of rowdy kids stomping and yelling to make a scene. Harper, for his part, had gotten better at dodging; he ducked behind his podium like a champ as another shower of produce came raining down on his head. As Wild Bill attempted to land the Dragonfly a safe distance from the crowd, the blond kid who'd helped take down the platform in the park rushed up towards the podium where Harper stood, pushing the stout mayoral candidate out of the way.

Scarlett sighed. "Looks like Harper needs our help again."

"Yooooo Joe," Wild Bill drawled, as though he'd rather do anything else than help the corrupt candidate—a sentiment shared by his fellow Joes. Still, there was a mission to complete.

Bill skillfully brought the Dragonfly to a hover ten feet off the ground, giving Zap and Snake Eyes enough room to jump safely down from the skids, then popped the canopy so Lady Jaye, Scarlett, Spirit and Quick Kick could join them. The civilians, already beginning to scatter in anticipation of another riot, gave the Joes a wide berth as they dashed through the crowd to confront the rioters.

Without having to discuss it, the Joes formed a skirmish line in front of the platform, putting themselves between Harper and the gang. Lady Jaye spun a javelin in her hand, enjoying its welcome weight as she watched the kids' surprised gazes follow the skilled movement.

"All right. I'm tired of playing around with you kids," she said, pointing the javelin at them in challenge. "You may be too dumb to realize Cobra's pulling your strings, but go home, or I'll _cut _them!"

The beefy blond boy jumped off the platform and started towards Lady Jaye, big hands reaching out as though he'd try to take the javelin from her, but he stopped in his tracks when Scarlett swung her crossbow towards him. "Stop right there," the redhead ordered crisply. "My C.O. asked me to bring him back a hippie pelt, and I bet yours would look good on his wall."

Pilar's dark eyes were wide and wary; she glanced back and forth from Joe to Joe, seeing the stern, grim faces of all the soldiers she'd been toying with all day. She seemed most unnerved at the sight of Snake Eyes—he'd saved her life, and she'd repaid him with treachery; now the odds were in _his_ favor. Tension sang through her stance, but she didn't run; however, that was likely less due to bravery and more due to the fact that the Dreadnoks had appeared menacingly at her back. The three mercenaries looked equally angry with the gangs, their very presence enough to herd the kids towards the Joes.

Scarlett spared a smile for the gang leader. "You're not so tough without _my_ crossbow, are you?"

Pilar's eyes narrowed, bouncing nervously to the weapon in question, but she didn't reply. Lady Jaye knew Scarlett would never in a month of Sundays shoot a child, but it was a good scare tactic; the redhead's silky smile didn't exactly beg the benefit of the doubt.

The two opposing factions stared each other down, and Lady Jaye felt oddly relieved—the unit was back together again, and they had reinforcements; for the first time all day, the odds were in their favor. Snake Eyes had his katana strapped to his back, but he hadn't unsheathed it; Jaye got the impression the commando was ready to tear his opponents apart with his bare hands. Quick Kick was fresh and ready, having come late to the party; one foot was turned towards his foes in a front stance, keeping him ready to throw all of his power into a frontal assault. Spirit's feet were spread wide, making the tall tracker an unmovable mountain with his fists clenched, and Scarlett was rock steady with her crossbow, ready to target anyone who twitched. Both sides had been spoiling for this fight all day. It was time to finish this.

Lady Jaye would reflect later that it was almost a rather anticlimactic letdown when the first explosion split the night.

* * *

><p>Tito hadn't gone far—when Pilar's dumb, stupid goons had made a fool of him at the rally, he'd bolted into the first empty warehouse he'd seen. A rat squeaked and scurried out of his path as his feet pounded the cracked tile looking for a hiding place. There was a long corridor that led to a room that had probably once been the foreman's office; Tito crawled into a corner, past a few crates that had been left behind, uncaring about how dusty his shirt and jeans were getting.<p>

Curling up into a ball, the little would-be gang leader hugged his knees. Now it was safe to cry—he was all alone here—but he valiantly tried to grind his tears away with his small fists. "I'll show 'em," he vowed, sniffling wrathfully as the tears rolled down his cheeks despite his efforts. "I'll start my _own_ gang, and I won't let _them_ join!"

Yeah. Yeah, that would show them. He'd call them Tito's Terrors—no, Tito's _Terminators_! And Pilar would be so impressed. Those big goons would be _begging_ for a chance to be his enforcers, but he'd be so cool that he'd have _five_ bodyguards, even more than Pilar, and they'd throw that dumb meathead Rick out on his ear!

Tito was so wrapped up in his fantasy that he hadn't noticed the small device affixed to the wall a ways down the corridor—that is, until it rang an alarm and a red light flickered to life on the front panel, blinking rapidly once, twice, three times along with the beeping klaxon. The light stopped flashing and began burning steadily enough that Tito could see the insignia stamped on the device, red as blood. A fanged, hissing, hooded snake—a _cobra_—

The explosion seemed to rock the entire building.

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye realized that they should have expected this—Spirit had mentioned that Storm Shadow's message had promised the presence of Firefly, and wherever Firefly went, explosions were sure to follow. The saboteur's favorite kind of fireworks involved flame, smoke and property damage, and he'd gone for the hat trick by wiring the warehouses bordering the pier.<p>

Popping noises and shattering glass could be heard as heat and pressure built up in the structures; any windows not already broken by the concussive force of the explosions burst outward under the strain of the shift in temperature. The civilians who hadn't already fled when the gang had begun their assault on Harper were screaming and running for cover; the Joes didn't interfere with their escape, knowing it would only cause confusion to try and round them up in a safer spot, putting them in more danger.

Joe, Dreadnok and gang member alike had sought cover when the first explosive had gone off; the various factions were huddled in the shadow of Harper's now-abandoned platform and riding out each chain reaction, counting explosions.

Despite their situation, the irrepressible Zap chuckled, his smile as bright as the flickering firelight around them. "I think Firefly's gettin' soft," the artillery expert declared. "Unless he's into weapons of mass _distraction_. What good is it to blow up a bunch of empty buildings?"

Lady Jaye opened her mouth to reply, but like an audio aid, a small, high-pitched voice shrieked out in terror from somewhere in the closest warehouse—a voice she recognized despite the fact that its former tough bravado had been replaced by fear.

"_Help, Pilar_!_ Help_!"

Apparently the buildings weren't _all_ empty.

Pilar had no trouble recognizing the voice either; she jerked instinctively towards the sound. "Tito? _Tito_!" Realizing that her brother must be inside one of the warehouses, she took a few steps away from the platform. "That's my brother!"

More explosions lit up the surrounding warehouses, sending shrapnel in all directions and turning the waterfront into a holocaust. Pilar sprang forward, but Ripper was too quick for her, grabbing her arm and jerking her back towards him. Seizing her by her arms, the burly Dreadnok lifted the gang leader off her feet as though she weighed nothing at all. "And just where d'you think _you're_ goin'?"

Pilar wiggled frantically, trying to break Ripper's hold, but she was no match for the big man. "My…brother!" she panted. "I gotta…_save_ him!"

Ripper bared his teeth at the panicked girl and shook her fiercely, as though she were nothing more than a misbehaving puppy. "The only thing you've _got_ to do is wot you were _paid_ to do—scare people _off_!"

The Joes exchanged glances, a few heads nodded, and just like that, the battle lines were redrawn once more, with the gang members and the Joes on the same side for the first time all day. Lady Jaye hefted a javelin as Ripper raised one meaty hand to slap the struggling Pilar. Before he could land a blow, Jaye flung the javelin, which landed at his feet, triggering the smoke bomb rigged to the spearpoint. Ripper dropped Pilar, raising his hands to cover his face as he backed away. In the confusion, the gang leader saw her chance and took it, bolting into the warehouse that the screams had come from.

"Hang on, Tito!" Pilar screamed, racing through the open door of the burning building before anyone could grab her. "I'm coming!"

Coughing, Lady Jaye muttered a curse at the gang leader's recklessness, but the smoke was impeding her ability to call out to her fellow Joes. Zap was still under cover, and Wild Bill had raced back to the Dragonfly, presumably to call for reinforcement; neither had been close enough to grab the girl. Quick Kick, Spirit and Snake Eyes were closing in on the still-disoriented Ripper before his fellow Dreadnoks had time to back him up.

That left Scarlett, whose eyes had gone briefly wide at Pilar's impulsive action. But the expression was there and gone in a flash—the redhead's eyes went steely and she set her jaw, putting up her crossbow without a second thought and sprinting into the warehouse in pursuit of Pilar, her hair flicking behind her like the flames themselves.

"Scarlett, wait, _don't_," Jaye barked at her comrade when she realized—too late—what the redhead intended to do, but Scarlett gave no sign that she'd even heard her friend; without even a backward glance, she disappeared into the burning warehouse.

_Right_, Jaye thought in disbelief. _Because the best way to combat an impulsive decision is with __**another**__ impulsive decision. _As exclamations went up around her, she realized her fellow Joes were equally surprised. Even Snake Eyes straightened up in what only a trained observer of the commando would recognize as shock.

"What the hell is Scarlett _doin'_?" Zap asked incredulously. "We ain't equipped for fire!"

Back at the Dragonfly, Wild Bill was on the radio, relaying their coordinates to emergency personnel, but Lady Jaye had a sinking feeling that no matter how fast they arrived, it would be too late for anyone who had the misfortune to be inside the warehouses.

Unfortunately, there was no time to chase Scarlett—the Dreadnoks were still a very real threat. Lady Jaye took solace in the fact that the gang members were hanging back, looking for Pilar—which meant she no longer had to pull any punches with her enemies.

"Pick on a lady your _own_ size, Dreadhead!" she hissed, putting the full force of a day's worth of frustration behind her words as she menaced Ripper with the sharp tip of a javelin. The burly mercenary backed up a few steps, right into his fellow Dreadnoks.

Buzzer gave Ripper an encouraging shove forward. "Don't fret, mate!" the blond Dreadnok said, taking care to shield himself behind Ripper. "We can take her!"

Quick Kick was immediately ready to flank Lady Jaye, knees bent in a horse stance, feet spread wide to anchor him. With a quick glance towards the burning warehouse, Snake Eyes followed, closing ranks. Jaye had to hand it to the commando—she was sure he was desperately worried about Scarlett, but Snake Eyes was a soldier to the bone, ready to back up his teammates, and she wouldn't forget that he'd been standing at her side tonight.

Buzzer seemed less inclined to attack once he saw that Lady Jaye wasn't alone. Appealing to the red-jacketed gang members and the grim-faced Rick, he entreated, "Can't we, mates? …Can't we?"

But the gang didn't move forward to help, and another explosion from inside the warehouse caused their faces to contort in rage. One of the red-jacketed greasers hissed, "You tried to stop Pilar from saving her little brother!"

Lady Jaye's brows lifted in mild surprise. Guess there were some things that even gang members thought were dishonorable.

And it was a lucky break for the Joes that they did—taking charge of the situation, burly blond Rick stabbed the air between the gang members and the Dreadnoks with his index finger. "We don't want to be your flunkies anymore, man!" he declared, and like a pack of sharks, they turned and headed towards the burning warehouse, looking anxiously for Pilar.

That was enough for the now severely outnumbered Dreadnoks. "Let's go, mate!" Buzzer decided as the Joes advanced, and the three mercenaries turned tail and bolted as fast as their feet could carry them. Spirit started forward as though he would give chase, but Zap held the tracker back.

"Forget them!" the artillery expert advised. "We got bigger things to worry about." Glancing around, he called, "Any sign of Scarlett?"

Lady Jaye shook her head grimly. Snake Eyes jumped forward as though he would enter the building himself, but Jaye quickly seized the commando's muscular arm. She knew she had no chance of holding him back if he made up his mind to follow Scarlett, so she quickly tried to convince him with words instead. "Snake, _don't_," she said firmly. "We've got no gear. Too risky!"

Snake Eyes turned on Lady Jaye, shrugging her arm off, and she could tell he was considering entering the building anyway. Intellectually, she was sure the commando knew that there was no point in risking more lives in a fire they weren't equipped to handle, but she didn't blame him for wanting to go in after Scarlett; she herself was fighting a rising panic at how long it was taking the redhead to reappear, ghastly visions of having to explain this to the rest of the unit—to Duke—circling in her head.

"_I swear to God, Scarlett, if that song gets stuck in my head today we're leaving you here and reporting you missing in action,_" Zap had said, and Lady Jaye had agreed with him, laughed about it because they'd all known there was just no way, that the idea was preposterous. "_If we live through this, remind me to kill you_," Jaye had told Scarlett, and even with a twenty-story drop to hell yawning below them she still hadn't really believed it could happen.

_But it is happening_, a voice whispered in her mind.

Patton was right. War was hell, and there was always a chance that soldiers would be lost, that good men and women would die in battle. Empty chairs in the mess, empty places on the chopper on the way home...these were things Lady Jaye, like the rest of the Joes, didn't like to think about. She accepted that it was possible, even probable, that she would lose friends and comrades along this road, that one day the empty seat might be hers, or—heavens forbid—Flint's. But today, her mind was unhelpfully supplying memories of bantering with Scarlett earlier in the day, her friend's smiling face melting into a grinning skull.

_Oh, Scarlett, don't do this_, Lady Jaye thought, her thoughts quickly outpacing her sickly thudding heart. _Don't make Snake Eyes carry you home one last time in a box on his shoulder. Don't make me tell this story to Duke—don't make Duke write that letter._

Tension sang through Snake Eyes' stance as he watched the building burn, and Lady Jaye considered offering him her hand, but hesitated, unsure if she wanted to offer comfort or receive it. She realized she was grinding her teeth, unable to pray, unable to call out, nothing but a low murmur vibrating in her chest, a plea—"Come on"—trickling out of her throat.

"Come on," she entreated, just above a whisper, Snake Eyes a silent ghost at her side. "Come onnnnn, Scarlett..."

_The entire unit regrets the loss of your daughter, Shana M. O'Hara, who died bravely in the line of duty…_

And then a shadow fell across the doorway. Every Joe tensed, and two of the gang members started forward. Not Scarlett—a coughing Pilar, staggering badly as she leaned on the doorframe. Stung into action by the sight of her, her friends hurried to help, big Rick's movements deceptively gentle as he looped her arm around his neck to steady her, giving the tough girl the illusion that she was walking on her own.

Despite everything, a smile tugged at Lady Jaye's lips as she watched them—two teammates—but it disappeared when she realized there was still no sign of her own teammate. Turning back towards the warehouse, she winced, preparing for the worst—Pilar had come out alone, and even from their limited interactions today Jaye knew she would have died before leaving her kid brother behind in the fire if there'd been even a chance she could have saved him. But Pilar also turned back towards the building, eyes wide with expectation—waiting for something.

And there she was, appearing in the doorway less than a second later, haloed in flame—Scarlett, that look of grim determination still on her face and Tito over her shoulder in a fireman's carry. Her hair was tangled and her face was sooty, and she put a fist to her mouth to stifle a cough as she carried the boy out of danger, but she seemed none the worse for wear.

A cheer went up from Joe and gang member alike, and Pilar leaped forward to greet them with a wordless exclamation of joy. Scarlett moved briskly to safer ground, shifting Tito's weight carefully off her back and smiling when the boy coughed, his head turning weakly against Scarlett's shoulder to look for his sister.

For her part, Pilar stopped short just before she reached them, orbiting Scarlett warily. Lady Jaye wondered if she was remembering their earlier altercation and Scarlett's defiant stand against her, but the redhead gave an encouraging nod, and Pilar stepped forward to carefully take her brother into her own arms. For the first time all day, the Joes saw a genuine smile on the gang leader, which changed her pretty face wonderfully for the better.

"My brother," Pilar said, her voice a mixture of joy and relief; she cuddled the boy in her arms, seeming to relish how he weakly returned the embrace. The open emotion was still on her face when she turned a grateful look to Scarlett. "Thank you," she said, almost shyly.

Scarlett's smile was friendly, giving no evidence of the fact that not a few hours before, she'd been spitting her own blood at this girl and basically daring the gang leader to kill her. "You bet," she said, as if they'd been discussing the weather.

Lady Jaye shook her head, smiling ruefully. Grace under fire—that was Scarlett.

The conversation was interrupted by sirens, and fire engines careened haphazardly around the corner, along with an ambulance. "All right! The cavalry has arrived," Scarlett laughed, punctuating the words with a thick-sounding cough.

Firefighters jumped out of the trucks, their movements efficient and precise as they unrolled hoses and prepared to battle the blaze, calling instructions over the roar of the flames. A sweaty-faced captain was deploying his men to various points around the danger zone. "All right, let's get this under control!..." he shouted, turning away, and Lady Jaye felt oddly ready to hand the work off to the next set of heroes.

But their job wasn't quite over yet. Turning to Pilar, Scarlett jerked her thumb towards the ambulance. "Both of you, in the ambulance. Right now."

Pilar shifted Tito's weight in her arms, eyes droopy and uncertain. Coughing, she glanced down the street. "I should take my brother home to my mother. We're O.K."

Scarlett cut her off. "Later. You guys need to get checked out, especially Tito. When you get to the hospital, they can call her for you."

Pilar shook her head. "That'll take too long. She'll worry, and there's no one else…"

Scarlett's nostrils flared—either in frustration, or because she was stifling a cough, Lady Jaye wasn't sure. "Then I'll tell her," the redhead threw out desperately, a last-ditch effort to get the girl to comply. Gesturing to the Dragonfly, she added, "I'll ask my friends to take me to your mother's shop right now. I'll tell her you're O.K., and she'll meet you at the hospital. All right?"

A little of Pilar's old suspicion and toughness bled into her slightly narrowing eyes, and Lady Jaye once again saw the warrior woman who'd confronted them in the candy shop. "Promise?" she asked warily.

"If I'm lying I'm dying," Scarlett quipped, sketching a mock salute. Lady Jaye noticed Snake Eyes turn his head away at his friend's choice of words, and didn't blame him; she herself had winced reflexively. "You have my word as a G.I. Joe, and whether you think so or not, you can count on that."

Pilar's expression relaxed slightly; it was Snake Eyes she looked at, appraising the commando with eyes that were hazy with a memory. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded, shifting Tito's weight to balance him on her hip, enabling her to extend a hand to Scarlett. "You'll go right now?" she said, still looking unsure.

Scarlett shook the girl's hand, then went so far as to give her a gentle one-handed shove towards the ambulance. "I promise. Go on, let the paramedics take care of you guys."

Tito smiled sleepily at the redhead over his sister's shoulder, raising one small hand in a weak wave as Pilar walked towards the paramedics who had jumped out of the ambulance. The gang members quickly closed ranks around their injured friends, standing guard until Pilar and Tito were bundled safely in the back of the vehicle,

Scarlett coughed, whacking at her chest with a fist a few times, then returned to where her fellow Joes waited, walking easily into the embrace Snake Eyes silently offered. "Don't look at me like that," she scolded playfully, as if she could see right through his mask, hooking her chin over the commando's strong shoulder and letting him lift her slightly off her feet. "Piece of cake."

"Careful, Snake Eyes, don't squeeze her," Lady Jaye warned automatically, then narrowed her eyes on Scarlett in a fierce glare. "Piece of cake, hell," Jaye hissed, fear being replaced by a much safer emotion—anger. "I don't know if I should hug you or kick your ass."

Scarlett raised her eyebrows, a smile playing around her lips as she waited for the verdict. It was hug. "I hate you," Jaye informed the redhead, keeping her embrace light as though afraid she'd hurt her friend. "And I'm only _not_ kicking your ass because we're standing next to an ambulance, with resuscitating equipment."

Scarlett laughed, which would have been comforting had the sound not been so brittle. "You gave us a scare, Red," Wild Bill agreed, slapping her playfully on the back—an unwise idea; this prompted a fit of coughing from Scarlett, followed by her clearing her throat several times. Snake Eyes' head swiveled rapidly towards Wild Bill, and it was no question that he was giving a warning look behind his mask. Not that it was necessary—Wild Bill looked dismayed. "Sorry, darlin'."

Snake Eyes shook his head at Scarlett, putting his hands out palm-down, shifting them from left to right to sign. {_Take it easy._} He pointed at her with one index finger and the ambulance with the other.

Scarlett only frowned. "Don't be silly. I'm fine. Let them take care of the kids—they're in worse shape."

Snake Eyes' fists shot out with his thumbs and little fingers extended, knuckles facing upwards, and when he brought his hands down the sign was fierce—his version of shouting. {_**Now**_.}

Scarlett set her jaw once more, eyes narrowing in the same determined expression that she'd had just before dashing into the warehouse. "Snake Eyes, I'm _fine_…"

Normally, the other Joes were smart enough not to interfere when Snake Eyes and Scarlett argued; it was safer to get in front of a Cobra firing squad, but Lady Jaye was all set to back Snake up on this one. However, both she and the rest of the Joes were quickly distracted by a shadow sneaking furtively away from the now-abandoned wooden platform—Robert Harper.

Zap elbowed Jaye. "What do you say we congratulate Harper on his…_explosive_ campaign?"

The adrenaline that had fueled her sickly pounding heart while Scarlett had been missing was now coursing through Lady Jaye's veins and she grinned, hefting a javelin. "You're right. Let's give the man a big hand." Raising her voice, she called, "Going somewhere, Mr. Harper?" and flung the javelin, the weapon's spearpoint burying itself in the ground just ahead of the fleeing man. Harper leaped back, eyes wide with fright, face sweaty.

"Nice shot, Jaye!" Quick Kick laughed. "I think Mr. Harper might need a new pair of pants!"

The rotund little politico turned, seeing the Joes advancing. "N-now, now," he said, briefly confident in his ability to wheedle his way out of the situation. "I think we can all just settle down and…" After a few seconds of staring at the Joes in blind panic, the little man whirled and bolted down the pier like a blinkered pony, reaching out to a vessel that waited at the end of the dock as though he could grab it and pull it closer to him. Lady Jaye recognized the boat as a Moray, and the two Cobras piloting it—well, they were unmistakable.

"Wait for me!" Harper called to Zartan and Firefly. "Don't leave!" The gray-camouflaged Cobra's stance was tense, as though he wanted to simply leap off the Moray if it meant he'd escape. Zartan, for his part, was scowling at Harper. Striding to the controls, Zartan opened the throttle, and the Moray shot forward as though kicked by a giant boot. They were quick enough to escape the pursuing Joes, but not Harper—putting on a rather impressive burst of speed for such a plump little man, the ex-candidate jumped clumsily onto the back of the Moray, just barely making it safely.

As soon as the explosions had ceased, a crowd of rubber-necking civilians had gathered to gawk at the fire; now they saw the entire scene unfold as Zartan and Firefly made their escape with Harper on the Moray.

"Look!" an onlooker shouted excitedly, pointing. "Cobra's rescuing Harper!"

The crowd began to murmur in disbelief, the idea gathering steam as it passed from person to person, and then someone yelled angrily, "Harper's a Cobra!"

As the mob behind them erupted in outraged shouting, Lady Jaye, Quick Kick, Zap and Spirit sprinted to the end of the pier. "Damn it!" Jaye huffed, checking an urge to stomp one heavy boot in frustration. "I would have loved to have dunked that guy in the drink after the day we've had."

Spirit smiled, pointing out over the water towards the departing Moray. "You may get your wish, Lady Jaye—look!"

As the Joes watched, Harper was double-crossed by his co-conspirators. Zartan and Firefly tag-teamed him quickly, their attack propelling the politico over the side of the vessel, where he landed with a _splash_. The Moray sped away, less one passenger—Harper resurfaced, sputtering and coughing, watching his ex-partners escape.

"Looks like we've got some backup out on the water," Quick Kick said, indicating a Coast Guard vessel that had been approaching the pier. The big ship moved smoothly alongside the downed Harper, one of the sailors aboard tossing him a life preserver. A familiar-looking sailor, with an easily recognizable Red Sox baseball cap—

"Hey, it's Cutter!" Lady Jaye cheered. "Looks like Harper isn't going to get away after all."

"Think they'll give a few broke-down Joes a ride?" Zap asked, watching their fellow Joe taunt the sodden Harper from the deck of the ship. "I gotta tell you, I don't think I could ride the Dragonfly's skids all the way back to the Pit!"

Scarlett and Snake Eyes had missed all this drama—they were still on the street, having some of their own. When the rest of the Joes returned to them, Scarlett had her arms folded over her chest like a bratty child, interrupting all of Snake Eyes' signs in an exasperated tone. "I told you, Snake Eyes, I feel fine. I don't _need_ to…well, Duke's not _here_, and I'd tell him the same thing I'm telling you—to let the paramedics take care of the civilians who need it first." Realizing her comrades had returned, she said, "Hey there. Where's Harper? Any luck pinning him down?"

Lady Jaye jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Zartan and Firefly decided there was only room on their Moray for _two_ eels," she declared. "Cutter's out in the bay. The Coast Guard's reeling Harper in right now."

Scarlett chuckled. "That's the best news I've heard all day. I hope he gets stung by a jellyfish before they fish him out." Sighing, she rotated her shoulder, massaging the sore muscles. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to pack it in. Should we go?"

Lady Jaye and Spirit exchanged looks. Snake Eyes' mask was as unreadable as ever, but his body language indicated unhappiness with her refusal to accept medical attention; he folded his arms across his muscular chest and tilted his head at her in a way that could only be called disapproving. Scarlett put a hand on the commando's strong shoulder and gave him her best smile, the one that inspired the entire Pit to confide in her and could convince even prickly, standoffish gang leaders to trust her in times of trouble. "Hey. Look at me. I'm fine, see? Right as rain."

Wild Bill laughed. "Ain't nothing right about rain, Red. Sure you don't want to let 'em take a quick look at'cha?"

Scarlett exhaled sharply out her nose in exasperation. "Yes, I'm sure. Besides, don't you guys want to wrap up and go home? We've been dying to get off this lousy detail."

Zap snickered. "She's got that right. Let's get out of here."

Snake Eyes cupped his friend's face in his hand, swiping his thumb over her sooty cheek. He shook his head affectionately, releasing her to sign by touching his thumb to the side of his forehead, then curling his fingers down ninety degrees. {_Stubborn_.}

"Don't call me donkey, ass," Scarlett said, nose wrinkling in irritation.

"He didn't," Lady Jaye pointed out, brow creasing in concern. "You're not seeing double, are you?"

Scarlett's smile would have been comforting had her voice not sounded like she'd swallowed glass. "Read my lips. I'm okay." Turning away from the commando, she caught Wild Bill's attention. "Bill, can you give me a lift to a candy shop on Fourth? I promised I'd tell Mrs. Vasquez that her children are all right."

"The hospital will call her, Scarlett," Lady Jaye said. "I think we should just call it a day."

Scarlett blinked in surprise. "But I promised," she said, as though Lady Jaye had suggested something preposterous.

"You ran into a burning building to save those children after they spent the entire day on the attack," Spirit assured her. "I think you can have a pass on this one."

But Scarlett shook her red head. "I gave my word. It won't take long."

"Oh, for heaven's sakes," Jaye said in exasperation. "If it means that much to you, then what's one more hour? But I'm coming with you."

"Give me your radio, Wild Bill," Zap said. "No offense to your flying skills, hoss, but I ain't riding those skids all the way to the Pit. I'm going to radio Cutter and see if we can get a Coast Guard escort home."

Lady Jaye took charge. "All right. Scarlett and I will go inform Mrs. Vasquez about her children. You all sort out transpo while we're gone, and when you're ready, Wild Bill, we'll rendezvous at the candy shop where you found us earlier this evening."

Bill sketched a salute beneath his ever-present Stetson. "Roger that, Lady Jaye."

* * *

><p>The candy shop was a little draftier than it had been on their first visit—the big front window was now covered carefully in plywood, but the broken glass had been swept up and the little place was no less cheerful-looking. Lady Jaye had half a mind to offer to pay for the damages since she and Scarlett had made them, but thought better of it—they'd been having their lives threatened at the time.<p>

When Mrs. Vasquez saw them enter her face grayed, and she twisted the cloth she'd been using to wipe the counter nervously in her hands. "My children are not here."

Scarlett cleared her throat. "We know that, Mrs. Vasquez, and don't worry—they're fine. Before I tell you anything else, understand that. Emphatically, Tito and Pilar are all right. Do you understand?"

Wide-eyed, the plump little woman nodded. She swallowed hard, closing her eyes, and it was a minute before she opened them again, but when she did, her face was calm, if grave. "What has happened?"

The two Joes sat at the counter and recounted the evening's events, beginning with the fact that Cobra had tricked the children into helping them get Harper elected and ending with the confrontation at the rally. There was no way to sugarcoat the description of the fire. "The children were inside the burning building long enough to cause concern, Mrs. Vasquez," Scarlett explained carefully, "so they've been taken to the hospital for observation. I assure you, it is just a precaution."

Mrs. Vasquez considered the story, then nodded. "What saved them?"

Scarlett blinked. "I'm sorry?"

The woman's dark gaze was serious. "You said they were trapped in the building. Now they are not. Something saved them."

Lady Jaye indicated her companion by clapping Scarlett on the shoulder, albeit gently so as not to prompt another coughing fit. "Thank this lady right here. She ran into the building and got the kids out."

Mrs. Vasquez turned from Jaye to Scarlett, considering her very carefully. "The children attacked you today, and you did not retaliate. Instead, you risked your life to rescue them when your positions were reversed." Her eyes were hazy with exhaustion, the sort that sleeping never fixed. "Thank you."

Scarlett coughed, either from smoke inhalation or embarrassment, Lady Jaye wasn't sure. "Just doing my job, Mrs. Vasquez. It was nothing."

The woman's expression melted into something almost impossibly sad. "If it teaches my children that there are good people in the world, who do the right thing simply because it is the right thing, it is far from nothing." Turning to Lady Jaye, the shopkeeper sighed and asked, "And Mr. Harper? What has become of him?"

Lady Jaye grinned despite herself. "Well, the last time I saw him he was treading water looking like a muskrat," she said cheerfully, glancing at the wall clock. "But I think the election results should be in any minute."

Mrs. Vasquez turned on the small television set that was nestled between the brightly colored candy jars on the shelf behind the counter, and the three women watched as the evening programming was interrupted for a special election report. Sure enough, a stiff-haired newscaster with surfboard teeth grinned his way through a tally that could only be called embarrassing. "So Harper's alleged association with Cobra fatally damaged his campaign, and with ninety-eight percent of the vote in, it's Greenway over Harper by the greatest landslide in history!" As he gave this report, a helpful infographic flashed on the screen, showing the votes in favor of Whittier Greenway numbering 2,104,938, while Robert Harper had garnered a scant 2.

Lady Jaye had officially had enough. "Now who in _hell_ cast the two votes for Harper?" she wondered aloud, throwing her hands down in complete exasperation.

Mrs. Vasquez tilted her head to one side. "His mother?" she offered, and Lady Jaye had to laugh.

"Maybe, or his wife," the corporal agreed. "What do you think, Scarlett?"

The redhead had been leaning over the counter, elbows braced on the Formica surface; now she swiveled her head to consider her companions. She cleared her throat once more, the sound thick and painful, but she quickly turned on the charm for Mrs. Vasquez and Lady Jaye, her raspy voice contrasting with her sweet smile.

"Could I have a glass of water, please?"

* * *

><p>When the two Joes exited the shop to put Mrs. Vasquez in a taxi that would take her to the hospital where her children waited, they found the Dragonfly already outside, with Wild Bill at the controls. Snake Eyes was standing outside the small craft with Timber sitting patiently beside him. Lady Jaye wasn't surprised, and they quickly learned from Bill that Zap, Spirit and Quick Kick had managed to wrangle a Coast Guard escort back to the Pit from Cutter with little trouble, but Snake had predictably elected to stay behind with Timber and keep an eye on Scarlett.<p>

After Lady Jaye gave the cabbie directions to the hospital and Scarlett gave the vehicle an idle send-off by bumping her fist against the trunk, the wolf perked up and trotted over to her, pawing at her shin with a whine. Smiling, Scarlett knelt to ruffle the thick fur around the animal's neck. "Don't _you_ start with me," she scolded playfully. "I'm all right, Timber."

Still, some time and distance later, Lady Jaye wasn't convinced, and she was pretty sure none of her companions were, either. Snake Eyes had made sure Scarlett had a canteen of water as soon as they'd boarded the Dragonfly, and she'd kept insisting she was fine until they stopped asking, but as Lady Jaye watched, her eyes flickered for what seemed like the hundredth time, and she huddled ever so slightly into her seat. She was still filthy and disheveled, her pale skin dark in places with soot, red tail of hair lying tangled over her shoulder. Timber sat at her feet, nosing her hand every few minutes until she'd absently slide her fingers through his fur. She looked exhausted, but then again, they were _all_ tired; the mission had gone from zero to insane in sixty seconds and had been a roller-coaster ride the rest of the way. It had been a long night for all of them.

Scarlett cleared her throat, interrupting Jaye's thoughts. "Why are you staring at me?" the redhead grated out.

"Selfless concern?" Lady Jaye frowned. "Did you forget running headfirst into a holocaust a few hours ago?"

Wild Bill laughed. "It'd take more than a fire to burn down this redhead, Lady Jaye."

"Yo Joe," Scarlett agreed warmly. "And don't you forget it."

Lady Jaye wasn't surprised by the redhead's bravado; Scarlett hated to be fussed over and treated it like an invasion of her privacy, often snapping at anyone who expressed concern as though they'd accused her of weakness. But the memory of the long seconds ticking by waiting for Scarlett to emerge from the burning building was too fresh for Jaye to be deterred by this behavior, and she was sure Snake Eyes felt the same way. Right now the commando was sitting by like a guardian angel, back ramrod straight against the seat, masked face fixed unswervingly on the redhead. He'd been sitting like that since they'd boarded the Dragonfly and hadn't moved.

"I told you, I'm fine," Scarlett said wearily. "Would the two of you stop acting like worried parents and just leave me be? I'm tired." Shifting her weight and turning away from her friends to indicate the discussion was closed, she raised the canteen to her lips and tilted it back, then curled back into the seat, lashes lowering to rest on her sooty cheek.

"All right," Jaye conceded softly from the front seat. "Look, just...don't close your eyes, Scarlett. O.K.? Don't close your eyes..."

Snake Eyes came to life, taking the redhead's hands in his. Scarlett frowned, annoyed at being disturbed, but allowed the contact. As Snake turned her palms upward, the frown faded into a puzzled look, but it only lasted a second after he placed his own hands on hers, palm down. A smile broke out on Scarlett's face as she waited a beat, then flipped her hands over in a lightning-fast movement, slapping the back of the commando's hands before he could pull them out of her reach. After a second, she held out her hands once more and Snake replaced his atop them, and the scenario repeated. On the third try, he managed to pull his hands away before she made contact, and she laughed softly, reversing their positions by holding her own hands out palm down for him to take his turn. A child's game.

Lady Jaye had to smile at the commando's efforts to keep Scarlett alert; she wouldn't have been able to pull off the same trick without a deck of cards at the very least. Snake Eyes managed to make the game last all the way back to the Pit.

* * *

><p>Breaker was unhappy.<p>

Ever since Duke had attempted to contact the Joes on the street crime detail and come up empty, he'd been a fixture in the area commonly referred to by the Joes as the "think tank" in a way that could only be called lurking. Normally, Breaker had no quarrel with his C.O. and felt no particular pressure when the master sergeant was around, but anyone who worked closely with Duke could have sensed that he was alarmed at not being able to contact any of the street crime unit. After several failed attempts to reach them, Breaker had had to conclude that Zap, Spirit and Snake Eyes were in some sort of a dead zone that was rendering their radios inoperable, which was not comforting, but still better than what he'd found when he'd attempted to contact Lady Jaye and Scarlett—their radios _were_ working, but neither woman was answering.

Unable to track his missing Joes down himself due to Hawk's ordering a command performance at the meeting with Domestic Intelligence, Duke had sent Wild Bill and Quick Kick to the street crime team's last known coordinates, and when he was released from the meeting, he'd showed up in the think tank and hadn't left since. Neither had Breaker, who had been ordered to continue trying to establish contact long after he was supposed to be off-duty. After hours of getting nowhere despite repeated attempts to contact the street crime team, Breaker had promised to summon him immediately the minute there was news; Duke had agreed that that was a good idea and finally left the tank on the pretense of having other things to do, only to reappear less than an hour later asking for a sit rep. Since then, Breaker had resigned himself to the fact that Duke wasn't leaving until his Joes were safely home, which left the communications expert with a mixed feeling of admiration and annoyance.

Worse, word of the street crime team's radio silence had somehow made its way to Flint, although that came as no surprise—the Joes were like rabbits in a warren, good at keeping secrets from the outside world but terrible at keeping secrets from each other. While Flint and Duke had very different ideas about what constituted discretion, the master sergeant showed his appreciation for Flint's poor attempts at concealing his involvement with Lady Jaye by doing his best not to jam them up. However, whenever Jaye was in any kind of danger, the warrant officer's macho side kicked into gear; he came running to protect her like an enlisted Rottweiler and all bets were off. He'd found his way to the think tank as well, and while Duke had attempted to distract him with orders to pick up the slack while the master sergeant waited for news, the two men had been in and out on a revolving door all night. Breaker's nerves were frayed and if it hadn't been insubordination to do so, he'd have screamed at them both that he could do his work far more efficiently without the two of them leaning over his shoulder. Instead, he dealt with them, but his patience was wearing thin.

"I should have gone on that detail," Flint said for the fortieth time, and Breaker's teeth clamped down so hard on his gum that he nearly bit his tongue.

Duke had also apparently had enough, and when he spoke it was through gritted teeth. "You were not assigned to that detail," he said, and his voice was carefully even, if clipped. "In fact, if I remember correctly, everyone was leaping over themselves to _not_ be assigned to that detail because everyone thought it was _ridiculous_."

Normally, there was no quarrel between Flint and Duke, but two alpha males in an enclosed space had a limited shelf life. Now the warrant officer speared the master sergeant with a fiery glance, lips pursed to spit a reply, but when he came up with nothing to refute his C.O.'s cold logic, he spun to vent his spleen on the hapless communications expert. "Goddamn it, Breaker, can't you try them again?"

The tiny spark of frustration that had been flickering all night while the two high-ranking Joes had argued over his head finally reached the end of Breaker's fuse. Spinning his chair, he said, "I've been trying them every twenty minutes and twice extra for you in one of the thirty-second intervals that Duke was out of the room, and the answer hasn't changed, Flint. I have been here all afternoon and all night waiting for a response. I'm worried about them too. I'm tired, I'm frustrated, and—" Here he narrowed his eyes at his two commanding officers. "—I'm out of gum." Tossing the empty packet of chewing gum across his desk in exasperation, he rose from his chair, rotating his shoulder to ease its stiffness. "I'm going to the commissary to get some more. I will try them again when I come back." He marched past the two men on the force of adrenaline, although it was already ebbing away, being replaced by the inevitable realization that he deserved to get chewed out for this outburst. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back to Duke and Flint and added softly, if gruffly, "Can I get either one of you anything?"

Flint's brows had disappeared almost into his hat at this point, while the beginnings of an amused smirk were playing around Duke's lips as the two men considered the mouse that roared. The master sergeant opened his mouth to respond, but the exchange was interrupted when the radio squawked, a communication coming over Marine channel sixteen.

"_Delta, Delta, Delta, this is the Coast Guard cutter __**Marauder**__, Whiskey-Alpha-Foxtrot-Niner-Zero-Four-Three_. _Over._"

The Joes were lucky that no one else was around to see the indecorous scramble for the comm that ensued, with Duke emerging as the victor due to Breaker's having risen from his chair.

"_Marauder_, _Marauder_, _Marauder_, this is Delta. Over," the master sergeant said crisply.

"_Please switch and listen channel 82A. Over._"

Duke nodded at Breaker, who was already moving to switch channels. "Switching channel 82A. Over."

However garrulous and snappy Cutter was in the field, he kept his radio communications short and professional, which was a relief to the Joes who had been keeping the nervous vigil in the think tank all night. They quickly learned that the Coast Guard had apprehended Robert Harper, who had been revealed to be a Cobra associate, and Cutter gave them a much-needed update on the missing Joes—Zap, Spirit and Quick Kick had stayed behind to ensure that Harper was transferred into the custody of the proper authorities, and the Coast Guard was giving them an air escort back, while Wild Bill had collected the rest of the team. As soon as he'd ended the transmission with Cutter, Breaker was attempting contact with Wild Bill's Dragonfly before Duke even finished the sentence.

"_We're five by five, Duke,_" Bill assured his C.O. calmly. "_On our way back to the Pit and all in one piece, more or less. I've got the lovely Lady Jaye, the silent Snake Eyes and a slightly singed Scarlett in the air with me. We've even got a wolf up here. Over._"

Duke snapped to attention, a scowl slashing his face. "Secure the comedy, Wild Bill, and what was that last about Scarlett? Over."

Scarlett cut in, her voice further away than Wild Bill's, as though she was jostling him aside to get to the comm. "_It's nothing. I'm all right. Over._"

Duke's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he decided not to pursue the issue at the moment. "I want all of you in my office for debrief the minute your boots touch the tarmac back here. Over."

"_Roger that_." Lady Jaye's smooth tone came over the comm like Pavlov's bell—Breaker saw Flint visibly relax. "_Out_."

Duke was also far less tense, but it was obvious his mind was racing ahead to the next order of business. Replacing the comm, the master sergeant clapped an idle hand on the communications expert's shoulder. "Good work, Breaker. I'll send someone down here to relieve you." With that, he left the think tank. Flint was hot on his heels, not even making an attempt to disguise the hurry he was in.

When Dial Tone came in some time later, he found Breaker leaning back in his chair. "Hey, Breaker. Duke said—"

Breaker held up a hand for silence. "Hear that?"

Dial Tone's brow creased in a frown. "Um...no. What am I supposed to hear?"

"Exactly," Breaker breathed. "That is the sound of them not being here. Enjoy it, Dee Tee—I'm going to bed!"

* * *

><p>Duke had told the Joes to report to his office as soon as they landed, but that had really been a formality—the detail had gotten enough attention around the Pit that no one was surprised when he showed up on the tarmac to receive them personally. The Dragonfly's blades hadn't even slowed before he was requesting information, glancing around to gauge the condition of his soldiers.<p>

One of "Wild" Bill Hardy's most admirable qualities was that he was unfailingly polite. After jumping out of the Dragonfly and saluting his C.O., he took extra time to tip his well-worn Stetson at the other man. "Howdy, Top. You sure were right about the street crime team needin' a bit of assistance!"

Duke nodded. "Good work, Wild Bill. Any trouble finding them?"

The pilot pulled his aviators off with one hand, grinning. "Nah, Duke, it ain't hard to find our ladies-they always stand out in a crowd. Found 'em in the middle of a gang brawl, wouldn't you know it!"

A voice from within the Dragonfly—it sounded like Lady Jaye's—muttered something obscene, although whether it was directed at Bill's jest or the memory of the fight was unclear. Duke made a mental note to get more information.

"Our girls were holdin' their own, though," Wild Bill continued blithely. "Hard to maneuver when you're up against kids. I hafta tell you, Duke, I didn't see all that much of it." Bill slapped a friendly hand against the Dragonfly's metal housing. "I stayed with the bird mostly while the others took out the serpents. These guys did the dirty work. You'll wanna talk to them."

"Indeed," said Duke softly. "Thanks, Wild Bill. Get some sleep. Dismissed."

His part over, Wild Bill touched the brim of his hat once more in farewell and turned to lope off, but he spared another grin for the master sergeant before he left. "Guess it wasn't such a crap detail after all, eh, Duke?"

Duke said nothing; he was counting his Joes. Lady Jaye was climbing carefully out of the Dragonfly, moving slowly, as though she were hesitant to aggravate an injury that Duke was unable to see. Snake Eyes, for his part, leapt easily to the tarmac and turned, holding out his arms for Timber to jump into. The wolf did so easily, shaking himself when the commando put him gently down, then sitting at his master's feet patiently. Scarlett was already out of the chopper, her face tilted towards the lightening sky as though she could breathe in the dawn.

The master sergeant let half of the breath he'd been holding out. Three Joes and a wolf, home and whole. There had certainly been worse mornings.

* * *

><p>After dismissing Wild Bill, Duke escorted the remaining three Joes to his office for debriefing, something he almost hated to do because their exhaustion was apparent, but good sense dictated that he get their reports from them before their memories were clouded by sleep and the passage of time. When they were assembled in front of him, he began picking out more disconcerting details—perhaps Wild Bill's glib remark about a street fight hadn't been in jest. These soldiers weren't just tired, they were injured.<p>

While she'd made an effort to keep up on the trip through the Pit, Lady Jaye had been walking slowly, any movements she made careful and deliberate. Her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, as though her body wanted reflexively to curl up. It was harder to see any signs of injury or stress on Snake Eyes, but the commando's fatigues were dusty with grit and torn over one shoulder and his shin; he held himself stiffly, as though he were sore. Scarlett looked like she'd been in a terrible accident—she was filthy, her bright tail of hair a mess of knots and tangles, and her lower lip was puffy and dark with a bruise. Every so often she'd cough, thick and painful-sounding.

"So," Duke said in an attempt to lighten the mood, "I guess you three didn't get a chance to vote today."

Scarlett snorted, although the sound was rather tickly and ended in a cough; Snake Eyes folded his arms with a small shake of his head. It was Lady Jaye who voiced their thoughts—"You are such an incredible shit, Hauser."

Duke chuckled. After the day they'd had, he was willing to let her get away with that one. "O.K. Bad joke. Start at the beginning. What happened when you reached the city?"

Lady Jaye sighed. "Colonel Sharpe radioed us to say that there was rioting at a rally in the park. When we arrived on the scene, Robert Harper was being harassed to the front by a street gang. We intercepted and chased them off. They fled to a nearby building and ascended the fire escape; we pursued. Scarlett and I got to the roof first. Snake Eyes, Zap and Spirit were behind us, so they were still on the fire escape when the Dreadnoks attacked."

Duke put a hand out in a "stop" gesture. "Whoa. Back up. Dreadnoks?" he asked, as if Lady Jaye had said they'd found a traveling circus atop the roof.

Scarlett wrinkled her nose, pressing a fist to her mouth. Her cheeks puffed out as she tried to hold back a cough and failed. "They were on ATVs. Buzzer tried to turn me and Jaye into roof pizza, so we had to jump clear and couldn't stop Torch from wrecking the support bars for the fire escape."

Duke's gaze swiveled to Snake Eyes. "No wonder you look sore. You were on the structure when it went down?"

Snake Eyes nodded and began to sign, tapping his fingertips against his chest just below his shoulders, then extending his hands and rubbing his fingertips together. {_They got us on the ground_.}

"I'll ask you about that in a minute. Where were you two while this was happening?" he asked Scarlett and Lady Jaye.

"We had to swing through a window," Scarlett explained. "It took us a few minutes to get down to the street. When we did, Snake Eyes, Zap, and Spirit were gone."

Duke turned back to Snake. "O.K., so they picked you up on the ground. You didn't fight your way out?"

Snake Eyes shook his head and held a palm up perpendicular to his face, striking it with his opposite fingertips, then patting the air at waist height. {_Not against children_.}

"Ah." Duke leaned back against his desk—he'd elected to stand while his Joes were standing, not wanting to relax if they couldn't. "O.K. So the Dreadnoks hid behind the kids and used that to round you guys up. Bastards. All right, no shame in that. Then what happened?"

The debriefing continued as well as could be expected with half the team still in transit back to the Pit. Each of the Joes present tried as best they could to piece the details together for their C.O., and the more he heard, the more jarred Duke was by their reports. They had all viewed the detail as something laughable, a perfunctory mission taken to assuage the brass and assure them that the explosion of street crime was being acknowledged and not allowed to spread unchecked. Apparently it had been far more serious than that, and the Cobras had spared no man when it came to securing their position—the presence of the Dreadnoks was nothing to sneeze at, but the Crimson Guard was far worse.

Moreover, there had been a few heavy hitters that had come late to the party, according to Snake Eyes. It was clear the commando had taken pity on the master sergeant and was trying to keep his signs as basic as possible, but there were a few instances in which there was just no simplifying it, such as when he ended a section of his report by crooking his middle finger and extending the others, first beneath his chin, then in front of his mouth before opening and closing his fingers as he moved his hand away from his face.

Duke mused aloud to show he was keeping up with the majority of what was being said. "Storm Shadow, eh? I'm surprised he even showed up—this sort of thing isn't his speed at all. Maybe that's why he was just delivering messages about..." The master sergeant's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at that last sign. "About..."

His gaze flicked to Scarlett, who looked amused. Turning her head slightly, she mouthed the word. _Firefly_.

"Right. Firefly," Duke said briskly, uncomfortably aware that everyone in the room had realized he'd needed the prompt. It was a little-known source of embarrassment for him that he could speak flawless German if necessary along with a whole host of Asian dialects, but American Sign was a language he had trouble with. "Then what?"

Snake Eyes pointed to Lady Jaye with one hand and Scarlett with the other, using crossed middle and index fingers on each hand. Keeping those fingers together, he crossed his hands in an x below his chin, then swung them wide again before pointing to himself and circling his finger around to the other side of his chest. {_Lady Jaye and Scarlett rescued us_.}

"That wasn't till much later," Scarlett said, picking up the story and explaining how she and Lady Jaye had escorted Robert Harper to Extensive Enterprises and what they'd learned from their daring ascent of the building—Cobra had hoped that if the gangs made trouble in the name of the incumbent, Whittier Greenway, people would be scared and throw their support to Robert Harper, who was on the Cobra payroll. The story of Lady Jaye and Scarlett's close call at the hands of the Crimson Twins was unsettling, but they were both standing before him in one piece, so there was little cause for complaint.

Still, he had to call both women out when he learned that they'd foolishly relinquished their weapons to a ten-year-old and had wound up in a street fight as a result. "I take full responsibility for that," Scarlett said immediately. "Jaye didn't want to do it."

"We were both at fault," Lady Jaye insisted. "I was just as impatient to get answers. I agreed to it."

"Then allow me to congratulate you both on a stupid decision," Duke said. While he was always impressed by the loyalty of his Joes to both the cause and each other, a bad decision was a bad decision regardless of whose fault it had been. "That's why you're limping around like that. Same as Snake—you couldn't use excessive force on the kids, so they had the upper hand. You were lucky Wild Bill showed up when he did."

"Thanks to you, Top," Scarlett said, coughing into her hand.

Duke's brows met. Since the debriefing had begun, she'd spoken only when prompted, and her voice sounded like she'd swallowed gravel. Several times she'd had to stop and clear her throat, and she'd interrupted herself with coughing every so often. "You all right, Scarlett?"

Scarlett waved a hand. "Affirmative." Clearing her throat, she continued the report. "The gangs and the Dreadnoks were at the pier for Harper's election night rally, but we managed to run them off."

"Not before Firefly got into the act," Lady Jaye said. "He'd rigged the surrounding warehouses with remote mines."

"Civilian casualties?" Duke asked quickly.

"Negative," Scarlett said, just as quickly. "The buildings were empty."

Lady Jaye elbowed Scarlett sharply, which prompted another coughing fit.

Duke frowned. "Scarlett, what the hell is going on?"

Sighing through her nose, the redhead admitted, "There was a young gang member inside one of the buildings. His older sister, a gang leader, went in after him."

Duke's frown deepened. "So why are you telling me there were no civilian casualties?"

"Because there weren't," Lady Jaye interjected. "Scarlett entered the building and extracted the children."

Well, that explained everything—the coughing, Scarlett's reluctance to speak. Snake Eyes held up both hands, fingers spread, and Duke could translate that one easily enough on his own. _Ten minutes_. The master sergeant's expression was calmly neutral as he turned to Scarlett, a sure indication that she was about to get chewed out. "Any reason why you didn't wait for assistance, Scarlett?"

Scarlett shot a glare at Jaye and Snake Eyes, but she was a true Southerner, always grace under pressure. "We had no estimated time of arrival for the response team; too much time wasted would have resulted in the deaths of two civilians, one a minor. I made the executive decision to perform the extraction myself."

"Without any gear."

"We weren't equipped for fire."

Duke's expression was growing more and more grim with every question he asked. "So even if you came across the civilians and they were incapacitated, you would not have been able to offer assistance." He arched a blond brow. "That's awfully…_tactical_ of you, Scarlett."

Scarlett's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her gaze steely. "Negative. _Strategically_," and she emphasized the word so that there might be no mistake, "extracting the civilians from the danger zone offered a higher chance of their survival than waiting for a response team to bring equipment. Equipment doesn't do anyone any good if they're already dead."

Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes were glancing from the master sergeant to the counter-intelligence agent and back again, like watching a verbal tennis match. Duke looked like he was silently counting to ten. This argument was an old one, and eventually, he elected to split the difference rather than continue the standoff. "All right. I can see your point, Scarlett, but you still broke protocol. You should have waited for assistance. Paramedics give you the O.K.?"

Scarlett looked at Lady Jaye as though daring her to say something, which meant she didn't catch Snake Eyes shake his head quickly, no.

Duke's attention swung back to Scarlett, fury sparking in his eyes. "You did see the paramedics," he said dangerously, forgetting his earlier decision not to pursue the issue.

Scarlett sighed. "Negative. There was no—"

Before he could catch himself, the master sergeant's stone fist slammed onto the desk in a rare display of temper. "God _damn_ it, Scarlett."

"It was _not necessary_," she enunciated, then completely destroyed her own credibility by coughing, trying to disguise it as clearing her throat.

Duke whirled on Snake Eyes and Lady Jaye. "And you two. There's one of her and there were six of you. You're telling me _no one_ insisted she get checked out?"

"Yes, and she ignored us," Lady Jaye pointed out. "What did you expect us to do, manhandle her into the ambulance?"

Duke's nostrils flared, as though he wanted to tell Lady Jaye that that was exactly what he had expected them to do, but he remained silent. Snake Eyes, for his part, cocked his head and lifted one hand in a shrug, as if to say, _You know Scarlett_.

Scarlett snorted thickly. "Oh, I would _love_ to see you t—"

"Shut up," Duke ordered flatly. "You forfeited your right to have an opinion on this when you broke protocol tonight."

Scarlett's eyes shot wide with indignation, but she held her tongue until Snake Eyes drew a hand across his throat and shook his head. "Whose side are you on?" she hissed, burning glare fixing on him, and Snake's answer was a forceful point at their C.O. That did it; Scarlett fell silent, but her expression was stormy.

The master sergeant sighed, and the Joes waited uncomfortably while he visibly leashed his temper, taking a deep breath and holding it for a second, then blowing half of it out. "All right. Other than that, what else happened?"

Visibly relieved at the shift in the line of questioning, Lady Jaye took the helm. "Once all the civilians were clear, the gang members started to realize they'd backed the wrong horse. Without them, we were free to engage the Dreadnoks, and you know how they hate a fair fight—they got the hell out of there. Harper tried to bolt, too, and we were about to lose him, but Zartan and Firefly are a pair of fair-weather friends." Jaye chuckled at the memory. "They heaved him over the side of that Moray before you could say 'I demand a recount'. Luckily Cutter was in the bay to field the fly."

"I've spoken to Cutter." Duke nodded. "Is that all?"

Lady Jaye shrugged. "We saw the post-election broadcast. Greenway's back in, and Harper's out. Cobra's thrown Harper to the wolves—they put the whole thing on him, and Tomax and Xamot are off the radar again. Most likely nursing their egos." She allowed herself a smile.

Duke nodded. "Well done, all of you," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening in a signal that the debriefing was over. "It's too bad Zartan, Firefly and the Crimson Guard got away, but Harper's out of office and Cobra's defused for now, so we can say our mission was accomplished. Thank you, Snake Eyes, Lady Jaye, you're dismissed—not you," he added quickly when he saw Scarlett turn to follow her fellow Joes. "Scarlett, I'm not through with you yet."

Scarlett's glare at Jaye and Snake Eyes was full of venom. Snake Eyes took the time to give Scarlett a thumbs-up. {_Good luck._}

Scarlett pointed two fingers at Snake Eyes, then stabbed downward, her movements jerky with irritation. Facing both her palms towards each other, she let them fall flat like dominoes, completing a decidedly less friendly sign. {_You are so dead._}

Lady Jaye flicked her head towards the door, and the other two Joes beat a dignified if hasty retreat, leaving the master sergeant and the counter-intelligence agent glaring at each other.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

**Scarlett is stubborn:** Scarlett accuses Snake Eyes of calling her a "donkey" when she emerges from the fire, but she's mistaken—the sign for "stubborn" is a raised hand, palm out, with the thumb touching the side of the forehead, then curling the fingers down so they point straight out. It's only when the sign is performed twice that it means "donkey".

**Ship to shore: **In the episode _Cobra's Candidate_, the viewers aren't told the name of the ship that Cutter is traveling on, but _Marauder_ is the name of a Coast Guard cutter in one of my favorite guilty-pleasure 80s action schlockfests, _Commando_. While we're on the subject, it's embarrassing that I don't know more about marine radio channels and VHF, since a moderate portion of my family and friends are USMMA, US Navy and NOAA and I couldn't be prouder of any one of them if I tried. I did my best here but I haven't been on a Marine radio since last Labor Day. Not having a location for Cutter to radio ship-to-shore, I settled on _Delta_, which is the official name for the G.I. Joe team as per 1984 _G.I. Joe #1_ (_G.I. Joe_ being Special Counter Terrorist Group Delta's code name). We use channel nine because of our location, being New Yorkers (and well, one New Jersey girl who married into the family. I decided to let her in as a probie), but sixteen is monitored by the USCG and is also used for hailing. 82A is a U.S. Government channel and I know nothing about it, so any mistakes therein are mine and please forgive them.

**On Dial Tone and Breaker:** I'm probably bucking comic canon here, since Breaker is one of the few Joes to have been killed in action during the comic run, but both Breaker and Dial Tone appear in the Sunbow animated series, which is largely what I'm going by here.

**Next chapter: **The debriefing continues and the Joes are safely back in the Pit, but this redhead could have told them that a good night's sleep comes at a price…


	6. When The World Is Coming Down Upon Her

**Author's Introduction:**

I really just want to thank everyone who's read and reviewed! It's always nice to hear a story I've written is making people smile or making them think. And on to the obligatory usual disclaimer—I own nothing, all rights belong to Hasbro and Hama and the ones who gave us the characters we love so much; I'm making no money. But I _am_ having fun. *smiles*

I would say, **Bronwynn**, that you have done your homework! *smiles.* Let's see how many you got right in chapter six. And **Rogue**, I hope you took a picture of your Zarana costume! Wish I could have been there to see that. Glad to hear you had fun at the con!

**God damn sleep disorder: **Yeah, I'll be up all night again…*shrugs* Where were we? Oh, right—somebody's about to get in trouble:

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Six: When The World Is Coming Down Upon Her<span>**

_I'll be there when the world is coming down upon her  
>When she's scared, I'll be there fighting in her corner<br>I'll be there when the walls are closing to surround her  
>In the air as she falls with my arms around her<br>Holding on, I'm looking out for her thin skin  
>Because she's everything<br>And I don't think she knows  
>I don't think she knows.<em>

**(Duran Duran, _She's Too Much_)**

* * *

><p>As soon as the door had closed behind Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes, Duke stabbed the air between him and Scarlett with a finger. "Sick bay. <em>Now<em>," he barked.

Scarlett threw up her hands in exasperation. "I already told the others I'm fine. There's no need—"

"Sick bay or the stockade, O'Hara. Your choice."

Scarlett's blue eyes narrowed to angry slits at the sound of her surname, and she popped a hip defiantly, as if daring him. "You wouldn't."

"That's what you think. Don't push me," he warned. They bristled at each other for a second, and then he shook his head and resumed leaning back against his desk, running a hand through his blond hair. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was doing my _job_," Scarlett responded ferociously, clearing her throat once more. "Civilians were in danger. I acted. Don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same. If you're not okay with me doing my job then we have a problem." The forceful speech was too much for her and she coughed harshly, pressing a fist against her mouth. Her eyes were watery when she fixed them on him and asked, "Do we have a problem, Duke?"

"I always have a problem when my men are in danger, or injured," was his matter-of-fact response. "Protecting my men is _my_ job, Scarlett. Do you have a problem with _that_?"

After a moment's consideration, Scarlett shook her head. "No." After another short, sharp cough, she added, "Point taken."

Duke considered the counter-intelligence agent, finding it difficult to hold onto his anger when she looked so obviously spent. A dark smudge of soot blackened one cheek, and her lower lip was swollen with a bruise, dried blood darkening the corner of her mouth. Scratches and dust dulled the shine of her breastplate, and her thermals were ripped over her upper arm. Blood spread outward from the point of impact, staining the torn fabric. Her tail of hair was tangled in knots, and her blue eyes were hazy with fatigue. Her response was as close as he was likely to get to an apology, and he realized she had to have been exhausted to have given even that much ground.

His voice was calmer as he met that tired gaze. "Scarlett, I don't have a problem with you doing your job. Breaking protocol is beside the point here—what you did was reckless, and if you'd gone down in there, you would have put the rest of your team in danger if they'd gone in after you. Worse, you didn't let the paramedics check you out, and that wasn't just reckless, it was _stupid_—don't interrupt," he ordered when he saw her about to speak. "I'm not going to give you the rousing speech about you being an essential part of this unit and how much the team's morale would suffer if we lost you—I'm just asking you to keep it in mind the next time you risk your neck like an idiot."

Scarlett smiled wryly. "You sure know how to flatter a girl, Top. If this is a pep talk, I'll skip the rally."

"It's not a pep talk," Duke said pointedly. "Thinking of others is an admirable quality, Scarlett. This team supports you, and they were worried you might not come back home today. Spare a thought for them next time, all right?"

Scarlett fell silent, an almost imperceptible shift of weight to one foot indicating that she was considering his words, and while she didn't overtly back down, her face relaxed, shoulders dropping in the first sign of fatigue she'd shown since their return. Her tone was gentler as she said, "…Understood."

Duke's own expression was calmly neutral once more. "You should have waited for help, and you're going directly to sick bay. That is non-negotiable."

Scarlett nodded. "All right."

"Glad to hear it. Dismissed."

She nodded, turning to leave, but when she got to the door, her chest seized with another fit of coughing. Turning to press a fist against her mouth, she saw that he was already out of his chair and at her side, steadying her and pressing his water bottle into her free hand. Smiling ruefully, she raised the bottle in a mock toast, then took a long, careful pull of the water. "Thanks."

Duke shook his head, but the look on his face was affectionately exasperated, his large hand deceptively gentle on her shoulder. "Running into a burning building without any gear. You're a real American hero, Red."

Scarlett's expression stilled, grew serious; she studied his face, as though looking for the subtext in his remark. "I didn't go in there because I wanted a tickertape parade. I really was thinking of the kids."

A smile threatened the master sergeant's face. "I never doubted it."

She narrowed her eyes warily, unconvinced, and when she spoke again her voice was uncharacteristically subdued, although whether it was from fatigue or concern was impossible to tell. "So…are we good?"

His response was immediate. "All systems go."

Scarlett finally allowed herself to smile again. "Roger that," she said, turning her back on him to head for the door, shaking her head with a little laugh.

"A real American hero," she declared mockingly, pausing at the door to smirk at him. "Honestly, Hauser, I don't know where you get this stuff."

* * *

><p>After being dismissed, Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes took up posts opposite each other outside of Duke's office without having to discuss it. Scarlett had been detained, predictably, to get her head bitten off. For her part, Lady Jaye didn't entirely disagree with their C.O.—she wasn't arguing that Scarlett's dash into the fire had been very brave, but it had also been ill thought-out, and the rest of the Joes had been worried about her. Her flat refusal to get checked out by the paramedics had been the last straw, and Jaye thought she deserved a short touch of Duke.<p>

"She's pissed," Lady Jaye informed her silent companion, "so be prepared for that ass-chewing conversation later."

Snake Eyes shrugged, pointing at the closed door, then turning his hand palm up and flicking it back, as though tossing something over his shoulder. Finally, he made a fist and brought it to his chin, extending his thumb and pinky. {_She was wrong_.}

Lady Jaye had to smile at the commando's straightforwardness; like her, he seemed completely impenitent about narcing on their teammate. Cocking an ear, she asked, "Hear anything?"

Snake Eyes shook his head. Duke was too professional to dress down one of his soldiers in public, but the report of Scarlett's recklessness on the detail had upset him enough to yell at her in front of them before he'd thrown them out here, which was saying something. Not that Snake blamed him—Scarlett's capacity to frustrate was exceeded only by her likability.

"He probably won't be happy if he catches us out here," Lady Jaye said to Snake Eyes. "Let's wait for Scarlett in—"

Too late—Scarlett emerged from the office abruptly and walked right into Snake, bumping into his chest with a sound of surprise. "_Ow_. What are you guys still doing here?"

Snake Eyes held out loosely open hands, palm up, wiggling his fingers before pointing at her. He ran two loosely clawed hands up and down in front of his chest. {_Waiting for you. Trouble?_}

Scarlett coughed. "No, but he's not happy. Thanks _so_ much for diming me out, you two."

"It serves you right for scaring the hell out of us back on the detail, G.I. Jerk," Lady Jaye responded. "Next time _I_ do something totally dangerous and stupid, _you_ can tell on _me_. Deal?"

Scarlett swung her glare to Snake Eyes. "And I suppose you agree with her."

Snake Eyes nodded. He gave a loose shrug and threw a thumb to the side. {_What else_?}

"I have to go directly to sick bay. No arguments."

Lady Jaye got the feeling Snake Eyes was smirking behind his mask. He touched an index finger to his mouth and brought it down, then pointed at Scarlett before moving his hand in front of his chest, bringing his thumb out from behind his curled fingers. {_Told you so._}

Scarlett gave him a withering look. "Well, congratulate you, Snake. You were right. Thanks a lo—" The complaint was defused rather neatly by another fit of coughing, this one so severe that she doubled over until it passed.

Snake Eyes put an arm around Scarlett until the worst was over; his head swiveled back to the closed office door. He tapped the air at his waist twice with closed fists and pointed at Lady Jaye, then grasped at the air and pointed at Scarlett. {_Can you take her_?} He held out two fists with his thumb extended and swiveled one hand into the other. {_I'll catch up._}

"Sure," said Jaye.

Snake Eyes made sure he had Lady Jaye's full attention before signing again, placing his hand perpendicular to his mouth and moving it slightly forward, then repeating the motion more forcefully with his index finger, indicating Scarlett and pointing down the corridor with both index fingers. He made a fist and brushed his extended thumb from his chin outward, then spread his hands and pushed them in a slight arc from his chest outward before indicating Scarlett again. Facing Lady Jaye, he held his index finger up in front of his mouth, then moved it down to his closed fist, spreading his fingers to cover his hand. {_Be sure she goes. Don't leave her. Promise._}

Lady Jaye's expression stilled as she realized the severity of the request; she nodded readily and responded, "You got it." The commando pressed fingertips to his lips and brought them down into his open hand to signal his thanks.

Scarlett turned a puzzled look to the commando. "What's wrong, Snake?"

Snake Eyes placed a gentle hand on Scarlett's shoulder, then repeated the swivel of his fist before pointing both index fingers down the corridor. He curled his hands into fists again and touched his knuckles together in front of his chest, then indicated Lady Jaye. {_I'll catch up_. _Go with Lady Jaye._}

Scarlett looked concerned, but her exhaustion was winning out; after a moment's hesitation, she nodded. Lady Jaye helped her decision by wrapping a hand around the other woman's wrist and tugging gently. "Come on, you big damn hero. I'll walk you down to sick bay."

Scarlett took a shuffling step to catch up with the arm Lady Jaye was pulling on, but regained her feet quickly. "Th…" She coughed again. "Thanks."

* * *

><p>Snake Eyes watched them go, unhappy with the way Scarlett seemed to be wobbling as she walked down the corridor, and knew she wasn't being honest about how rough she obviously felt. She'd been stonewalling them since they'd left the city, but there was little the commando could do about it—it wasn't as though he could pull rank on her.<p>

Which was why he was hoping someone else had.

There might have been a few things Snake Eyes envied Master Sergeant Conrad Hauser, but his job was not and had never been one of them. The commando came and went as he pleased and took care of business as he saw fit, whereas Duke was pinioned by protocol and responsibility. The man loved his job and his country and was very good at what he did, but Snake was fairly certain that on days like this, he realized the job didn't love him back.

Right now the master sergeant leaned back in his desk chair and arched a curious brow at the commando who'd requested entrance to his office. "Something else to report, Snake Eyes?"

Yes, there was something. First placing his fingertips against his mouth and letting his hand fall to his other open palm, he brought it back up against his brow and opened and closed his fingers. Finally, he rotated his hand between them to grasp empty air and tossed it back over his shoulder. {_The good guys won_,} he reminded his C.O., holding up two fist with thumbs extended and brushing his knuckles together, one index finger pointing upwards. He brought both index fingers back towards himself, then flipped his palms outward. He moving his fingertips from his mouth to his cheekbone, then touched them to his mouth and brought them down to his open palm, finally folding one arm over the other, one index finger extended. {_Everyone came home. It was a good day_.}

The barest ghost of a smile flickered across the blond soldier's face as he worked through the signing, but his eyes remained dark. "Why do the stupid details always end up being the dangerous ones?"

{_You didn't know._} Snake pointed at the master sergeant and made a circle with one hand, holding it before his brow.

Duke's jaw tightened. "I should have considered it. It's my job to consider it."

{_Disappointed?_} Snake Eyes asked with an index finger to his chin, and while the master sergeant couldn't see it, he arched a brow behind his mask.

Duke relaxed fractionally. "No. You sent the bad guys packing and you didn't lose any of my Joes." Angling a glance at the commando, he added, "I'm going to follow up with Zap and Spirit when they get in, but you guys seemed to have had better odds out there. Lady Jaye and Scarlett…"

Feeling a need to defend his teammates, Snake Eyes pointed at the door, drawing a line in the air, then swung loosely clawed hands from side to side. He touched the knuckles of his fists together, thumbs extended, and drew one hand up, then made a circle with one hand, last three fingers extending. Finally he tapped one fist lightly atop the other. {_They did most of the work_.}

"Yes, but according to the report, they also did a lot of dangerous things." For the first time since they'd returned, the master sergeant looked tired; Snake Eyes got the impression he would have preferred being on the detail himself to helplessly hearing after the fact how what should have been a simple, laughable mission had gone FUBAR about ten minutes in. Eyes darkening, he glanced at the closed office door, then back to the commando. "You didn't come in here just to tell me that."

No, he hadn't, and Snake Eyes had to smirk behind his mask; very little got past Duke, and the master sergeant was giving him permission to get to the point. The commando briefly debated how to conduct his questions as efficiently as possible—he appreciated their C.O.'s determined attempts to follow his signs despite his limited understanding of them, but when trying to get information it was something that could quickly become frustrating for them both. It would have been easier had Scarlett been there to translate, but there was a reason he had not wanted her present for this conversation. Luckily for him, she had been too tired to argue the point when he'd sent her away.

Finally flattening his hands palm down, Snake Eyes turned them over and curled them loosely, then touched fingertips to his mouth and brought them down, palm down. {_How bad?_}

Duke had no trouble understanding the commando's train of thought; he arched a blond brow in mild surprise. "You tell me. You were with her all night."

Snake Eyes frowned behind his mask. Indicating the door, he curled one hand into a fist, thumb extended, then threw it back over his shoulder. He held a hand out and brought it close to his chest, then held a flat hand perpendicular to his face and brought it away slightly. Pointing both index fingers skyward, he held one close to his face and one slightly below, then turned them both straight out. {_She didn't give me a straight answer._}

Duke looked torn between laughter and confusion, although he was leaning towards the latter. "And you think I got one because...?"

Snake Eyes stopped, hands idle in midair for the sparest of seconds as he considered this unexpected response. Blinking behind his mask, he held three fingers out, drew them from his elbow up his arm, then across, the sign for "sergeant".

That did it; the master sergeant chuckled ruefully. "With Scarlett, pulling rank is about as effective as a Cobra Pogo Ball."

Translate that to mean, not very. Before he could help himself, the commando expelled air audibly through his nose in an almost comical snort—his version of a laugh, the only communication left to him that needed no translation.

But Duke only shared the laugh for a minute; his smile faded into a distant look of concern, as though he was considering his own words and had realized the joke wasn't funny. Abruptly, the blond soldier rose from his chair. "Come on. Let's go," he said to Snake Eyes, indicating the door with a flick of his head.

Snake Eyes followed, extending his thumb and little finger and tapping his knuckles against his chin. {_What's wrong?_}

The master sergeant's expression was determined as they walked into the now-empty corridor. "Nothing, I hope, but I'm not sitting here waiting for another bad report. You want a straight answer, don't you? Let's go get one."

Snake Eyes concluded that their C.O. hadn't gotten enough sleep, because he was full of unexpected actions this morning. The commando held out both hands parallel to each other, palms facing in, and tapped them across the air at waist height. {_Plan?_}

Duke's smile was almost beatific, an expression that looked out of place on the normally steely soldier. "Don't need one," he said, and while it held none of the elegance of Scarlett's motions nor the efficiency of Snake's, he managed to repeat the commando's earlier sign, drawing three fingers up his arm from his elbow, then across below his shoulder. "Remember?"

Smirking behind his mask, the commando followed his C.O. with a shake of his head, holding a sarcastic thumbs-up out in the same sign he'd given Scarlett earlier. {_Good luck._}

* * *

><p>"Sorry," Scarlett said for about the fourth time, and Lady Jaye rubbed idly at the shoulder the redhead had once again smacked into.<p>

"Don't worry about it. Look, are you sure you're all right? You're weaving."

_Weaving_ was actually putting it politely. Scarlett had knocked her shoulder into the corridor wall once, walked into Lady Jaye twice, and had nearly tripped them both at one point. Jaye was glad it was still so early—the Joes not on duty were likely running P.T., and the corridors were all but deserted, which meant no one was around to see Scarlett careening into things like a runaway shopping cart.

"I'm just tired," was the now-automatic response. "You know, I think I'd feel better if I just went on to bed," Scarlett said, rubbing a copper brow with two fingers, a subconscious gesture she often repeated when tired. "I'll swing by sick bay tomorrow and see Doc after I've gotten a good night's sleep. Don't you want to turn in, Lady Jaye? You're exhausted, too."

Lady Jaye frowned, crossing her arms, the cuts on which were already beginning to scab over nicely. Every ache, scrape and bruise was making itself known to her, and all she wanted was to hand Scarlett off to Doc and Lifeline and take a hot shower, then crawl into bed until nightfall. "Forget it, Red. It's zero-six-hundred and we're off the duty roster for now, so we can sleep all day if we want to—_after_ you've been cleared by Doc. You're so shot you can't even walk in a straight line. I'm already in the doghouse with Duke for not insisting you get checked out at the scene, and if you don't go to sick bay right now, he and Snake are going to be fighting over who gets to kick my ass first. Now march."

"Well, gee, Mom…" Scarlett rolled her eyes and changed tactics. "Can I at least take a shower first?"

"Negative." Jaye shook her head.

"But I'm filthy."

"I don't _give_ a Van Damme." Lady Jaye stopped abruptly, flinging her hands down in an expression of total exasperation. Since Scarlett had emerged from the burning warehouse, she'd been blowing off everyone's concerns like a bratty child, and the exhausted corporal was sick to her stripes of her friend's stubbornness. "You must think I'm some kind of idiot," she accused the redhead. "I've seen this movie before. You get me to agree to let you shower, and then you pull a ninja move and disappear. Forget it."

"I'd promise not to," Scarlett said immediately—which was as good as admitting she'd been considering doing exactly that—an almost pathetic expression of hope sparkling on her face at the thought of a hot shower. "I'll be quick, and I'll go to sick bay right after."

Lady Jaye gave her friend a long, steady look, evaluating her earnest expression, and came to the only logical conclusion:

"You're lying."

Scarlett's hopeful expression exploded into indignation once she realized Jaye had figured her out. "Oh, _come on_, Jaye, don't do me like that."

"Do you like _what_?" Jaye hissed, shepherding the redhead further down the corridor simply by the force of her angry stride. "Didn't Duke tell you you had to go _straight_ to sick bay, no arguments? That should include arguing with _me_."

"I'm _not_ arguing. I'm _begging_." Scarlett gave her friend watery blue doe eyes. "_Please_, Jaye. I smell like burnt tar, I'm covered in soot, and most of this blood is mine. I promise I'll go anywhere you want, just _please_ let me take a five-minute shower so I can feel like a human being again. I won't disappear, I promise." Holding her hands out in supplication, she added, "What, do you want to _watch_ the whole time to make sure?"

"Now that's an offer no one on this base would refuse!" a deep voice chuckled, and both women turned around to see—

"Flint!" A grin broke out on Lady Jaye's face at the sight of him coming down the corridor in the opposite direction, his big treaded boots devouring the space between them easily, crisp shirt straining over his muscular chest, cover perched jauntily on his head. He looked fresh and ready for action—which only served to remind Jaye once more that she and Scarlett had been awake for over twenty-four hours and running on adrenaline for nearly as long. "Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes."

The silver-tongued warrant officer returned her smile, taking her hand and spinning her around in a little dance move before bringing her back into the loose circle of his arms. "And you, Lady Jaye, are a vision." Glancing at Scarlett, Flint wrinkled his nose slightly. "_You_, Scarlett, look like you just came down the chimney, but if you brought me this little lady for Christmas, I'm willing to overlook a little soot."

Scarlett sighed through her nose wearily, rubbing at her eyebrow again. "Good morning, Flint," was all she said.

Flint shifted his weight to his heels abruptly, one arm still wrapped loosely around Lady Jaye's waist. "Scarlett," he prodded gently, arching a brow and gesturing to the redhead's filthy fatigues and tangled hair, "I'm teasing you at what is clearly an inappropriate time. Don't you have something to say about it?"

The redhead blinked hazy blue eyes, brow furrowing in confusion as she considered this. "Oh," she said suddenly, nodding in what seemed like realization. "Yes. I forgive you."

This wasn't the answer Flint had been anticipating. "That's it?" he asked.

Scarlett blinked again, brow furrowing in confusion. "Um...have a good day?"

The cordial response surprised Flint more than if she'd physically struck him. "Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ. Are you all right?" The warrant officer let go of Lady Jaye, and both moved to flank the redhead without having to discuss it.

"Of course I'm all right," Scarlett protested absently. "I said I forgive you."

"I don't want you to forgive me. I want you to remind me it's October, and tell me to knock it off." Flint's expression had gone from teasing to concerned; he reached out to put a gentle hand on the redhead's shoulder. "What happened out there, kiddo?"

Scarlett shied away, shrugging him gently off. "I'm _fine_, all right? Why is everyone so worried?" Pushing her forelock off her brow, she coughed again. "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

Lady Jaye sighed through her nose at the sad sight of her friend. "Sick bay is on the same level as our quarters. I guess a shower isn't unreasonable," she relented, and it was worth it to see Scarlett brighten. Not wanting her to get any other ideas, Jaye stabbed the air between her and the redhead with an index finger. "But I'm coming with you and standing outside the door, then personally escorting you to sick bay, so don't even _think_ about trying to give me the slip or I'll make you wish you were back in that warehouse. And for heaven's sake, be quick about it, would you?"

Scarlett beamed, ignoring the threat in light of having gotten her way. "You're a princess, Lady Jaye."

Lady Jaye waved a hand dismissively as they moved at a much faster pace down the corridor. "Yeah, yeah. Hurry up, will you? This princess feels like she could sleep for a hundred years." Glancing at Flint, who was bringing up the rear, she gave him a wry smile. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

Flint checked his watch. "I don't have to report in for another hour and a half. Let it never be said I wouldn't see my girl to the door."

Lady Jaye felt the smile digging a hole in her cheek as she turned to face front once more, eyeing Scarlett, who seemed to be concentrating very hard on striding forward in a relatively straight line. So far, she wasn't doing too badly, but the fact that she was having to work at it just made Jaye more anxious to get her to sick bay and have Doc or Lifeline check her out. As for Flint, she knew there'd be no dismissing him until he'd seen her tucked safely into bed, but she couldn't really bring herself to complain about that too hard.

There were times when it was to the female Joes' advantage to be in the minority on base. She and Scarlett had each been issued a single-occupancy room at the end of a relatively quiet corridor of the Pit's living quarters, and while they had to share a bathroom between the rooms, it was hardly an issue and far better than the alternative, which was a latrine on an entirely different floor. Lady Jaye had not allowed Scarlett to enter her own quarters, deciding it would be too much of a temptation for the redhead to collapse into bed. The corporal had elected instead to fetch Scarlett clean clothes while Flint stood guard to ensure she didn't bolt. Now Jaye stationed herself across from the bathroom door and leveled a serious gaze on Scarlett as she handed her the folded garments and a towel. "I mean it, don't be long," she said. "I'm staying out here the whole time. If you're not out in ten minutes I'm coming in after you. Got that?"

Scarlett nodded once, quickly, then vanished into the bathroom before Jaye could change her mind. Once she was inside and water could be heard running behind the closed door, Lady Jaye swung her serious gaze to the still-grinning Flint. "And _your_ mission, should you choose to accept it, is to keep _me_ awake until she gets to sick bay."

"I'll keep you awake as long as you like, and then I'll put you to sleep with a bang," Flint promised, taking advantage of their solitude to wind her in his arms, bringing her close for a kiss. Jaye's eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion and relief settling over her like an old, comfortable blanket as his embrace constricted possessively around her, his mouth warm and demanding. Oh, to just let go, to collapse against him...but she couldn't.

"Been waiting for that," Flint purred when he broke their kiss, settling her comfortably against his chest and giving her a squeeze. "Since last night, I've been waiting for that."

"Was it only last night?" Jaye murmured idly into his strong shoulder, cuddling into his embrace as though she wanted to curl up in him. Her head spun with the idea that only a day had gone by, when it felt like years, like ages. "Seems so long ago…"

Flint's lips sought her brow, the kiss a balm, a blessing. His fingers were in her hair, stroking, soothing. "You're home now."

"Home…" The word made a pretty sound as she tightened her hold on him, eyes closing again, the better to feel how strong and solid he was. Her lips curled in an idle smile at the thought; she was bloody and battered and so exhausted she couldn't see straight, but wherever this man was, she was home.

"Shall I carry you to bed, my Lady?" Flint murmured against the shell of her ear.

Smiling, Jaye snorted weakly. "I wish. Duke would have my head on a stick if he even knew I let her come here instead of taking her straight to sick bay. I should have told her that if she wasn't out in ten I'd send _him_ in after her."

Flint chuckled, the robust sound shaking them both. "And that's a punishment for _which_ of them, exactly?"

Brow furrowing, Lady Jaye turned a puzzled expression up to him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

His smile was one for a slow learner in a high school classroom. "Well, he and I spent the entire night buttonholing Breaker for sit reps. I know why _I_ was worried and who I was worried about. What do you think his excuse was?"

Jaye wrinkled her nose, swatting at his shoulder. "Oh, grow up. We're _all_ worried about Scarlett. This is the first time Snake Eyes has let her out of his sight since we left the city, and you know how he gets—he'd be tucking her in with bubble wrap tonight if he thought he could requisition enough bubble wrap on short notice. In fact, I'm surprised he hasn't shown up yet to sling her over his shoulder caveman-style and tote her down to sick bay himself."

Flint chuckled. "Thanks for the interesting mental picture."

Lady Jaye gave him a look. "I'm just being as silly as you are. Duke was just worried about us because he couldn't get us on the radio. Wild Bill and Quick Kick said as much."

"Wild Bill and Quick Kick weren't in the think tank with him breathing down their necks all night," was Flint's rebuttal. "Breaker and I were. He was worried, all right, and when Bill made that joke about Scarlett you could practically hear his blood pressure spike."

"You didn't see them during the debrief." Lady Jaye frowned. "I've seen Scarlett be friendlier getting a parking ticket. They weren't exactly blowing kisses at each other. He was angry when he heard she broke protocol, but he's furious that she didn't receive medical attention. If he finds her anywhere but sick bay in the next hour, he might just kill her himself and be done with it."

Flint only smiled. "You don't know Duke like I do. That's not anger—that's relief."

Lady Jaye could see that there was no talking Flint out of his theory. "Well, _I'd_ be relieved if Scarlett would just get out here alre..." Lady Jaye trailed off. "Wait a minute. You and Duke were in the think tank _all night_?"

Flint shrugged, realizing his error. "In and out," he said dismissively, as if it were no big deal. "Duke was terrorizing Breaker for sit reps once your radios went dead, so I figured that was the place to stop in for an update."

Lady Jaye saw through him immediately—her steadfast tin soldier had been up all night waiting to hear if she were all right, and knowing him, _he'd_ likely been tormenting Breaker even more than Duke had. Pulling him close, she rewarded him with a deep kiss, loving the low sound of appreciation he made as she slid a hand up to the back of his neck, fingertips playing with the short dark hair at his nape.

"You must be exhausted," she admonished gently.

"Nah." His smile was sweet. "Caught a catnap between your transmission and when you got here. I'm good."

"No." Lady Jaye shook her head slowly, unable to keep her smile out of her eyes. "You're great."

Flint bent his head again, his nose brushing against hers, his kiss gentle. She only allowed herself the sparest of seconds to enjoy it before pushing him away with a sigh. "You're supposed to be keeping me awake, not making me ready for bed," she teased gently, and she knew from the twinkle in his eye that he'd caught the double entendre. Reluctantly shrugging out of his arms, Lady Jaye struck the door with her heel a few times, raising her voice. "Hurry up, Scarlett. Don't make me come in there."

No answer from inside.

* * *

><p>Scarlett smiled, vowing that she would never again take being clean for granted.<p>

Tilting her face gratefully up to the warm spray, she bit down on a sigh of pleasure, ignoring the pain of her bruised lower lip. Here, out of her fatigues with the dirt and soot scrubbed from her body, it was easy to take stock of her injuries. One knee was blackening with a bruise, likely from the fall through the candy shop window, and her thighs, along with her arms and shoulders, were sore from climbing the jumplines. She'd been so eager to get the grime and dust off her skin that the cut on her upper arm had reopened from the rough handling, and the water swirling into the drain ran charcoal dark, pale gray, then finally tinged with pink as the blood flowed. She wished she had more time to luxuriate beneath the spray, but Lady Jaye was still waiting outside, and the corporal had had just as rough a time on the detail as she had and needed sleep badly. It wouldn't be fair to hold her up longer than necessary.

But _oh_, this felt _good_.

She closed her eyes and leaned against the shower wall, Duke's voice echoing in her memory. _Spare a thought for them next time, all right?_

Here, alone and quiet, it was easier for her to admit, even just to herself, that he had a point. She'd never doubted that Lady Jaye would watch her back throughout the detail, never worried that Snake Eyes wouldn't be waiting for her on the other side of a fire. They'd all been through a lot tonight, and she made a mental note to thank them for having her six as soon as they'd all had a chance to rest up. She'd start by getting out of the shower so poor Jaye could get to bed sometime before next week.

The redhead leaned over to rinse her hair one last time, enjoying how easily her fingers slipped through the now-clean locks. Whipping her hair back with a flick of her head, she reached to twist the tap and blinked in surprise when she stumbled, her hand hitting the wall a good five inches away from the tap. Her free hand shot out to steady her, and the shower stall swung like a pendulum, the world warping like a funhouse mirror.

Bracing her hands against the slick shower wall, Scarlett closed her eyes and waited for the world to right itself. As soon as she felt steady, she twisted the taps and carefully stepped out of the stall, drying off and dressing as quickly as possible. Her head was throbbing as she lifted her heavy, wet hair over the collar of her shirt, and the way the overhead light seemed to bounce painfully off the tiled wall wasn't helping, but she dismissed the sudden wave of dizziness as she prepared to reenter the corridor.

_No big deal_, she told herself. _Just took a bad step. I'm O.K._

Of course. She was just tired, and the clouds of steam were messing with her sinuses and distorting the way things looked, that was all. That was why her head hurt, and why it was so hard to breathe. She just needed some sleep, and the only way she was getting any was to go down to sick bay. She would have preferred her own bed to one of the slender medical cots, but any port in a storm at this point.

A loud banging could be heard on the other side of the door—a foot, likely; Lade Jaye's voice sounded underwater and far away. "Hurry up, Scarlett. Don't make me come in there."

_Coming_, Scarlett responded—at least, she thought she did; maybe she only thought it. The hand that reached for the door seemed to be moving so slowly, curling her fingers around the metal handle a major effort. It took two tries to get a grip.

_Tired_, she told herself once more. _I'm just tired. One minute, Jaye, I'll be right there..._

Shaking her head to clear it, ignoring the pain the movement caused, she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

* * *

><p>Lifeline had a tough row to hoe when it came to his military service—the field medic was a pacifist and abhorred violence of all kinds; he carried two handguns into the field because that was proper procedure for a soldier in his position, and kept them well-oiled and in good condition only on the grounds that he might one day have to use them in defense of civilians or his fellow Joes. Even his proficiency in Aikido was something he pursued only to disarm and subdue his opponents, not to harm them.<p>

Still, every so often the temptation to misuse the techniques was felt even by the peaceful healer.

"What do you _mean_, she's not here?"

The field medic tilted his glasses at the master sergeant and commando who were currently darkening the doorway of his sick bay. Snake Eyes was looking around the tiled room as though expecting the object of his search to pop out from under one of the cots or something, and Duke's tone was as icy as his eyes; he practically bit the words off as he spoke for them both.

"Scarlett is not here," Lifeline repeated, his instincts prompting him to be concerned for their fellow Joe. "Should she be? I know she was on the street crime detail with you, Snake Eyes. Is she injured?"

Snake Eyes nodded, placing both hands at his throat in the universal symbol for choking.

"She was supposed to come here directly after debriefing," Duke explained further, shaking his head. "She was in a fire on the detail and she's been hacking up a lung ever since she got back on base."

"I haven't seen her all morning," Lifeline said, "but then again, I just came on about an hour ago. Maybe she's come and gone already? Doc was here before I was, but he's at the quartermaster's now, going over inventory. I can go and check with him if you like."

"No," Duke said immediately. "Snake and I can do that. I want you to stay right here in case she shows up, and she doesn't go anywhere until she's been medically cleared to, is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Lifeline said readily, moving briskly to prepare the nearest cot. "If she's having trouble breathing, why didn't she come in right aw—" He stopped asking the question as soon as he saw the murderous look on his C.O.'s face. "Er, I mean, I'll be standing by, Duke."

"Good. Get out a body bag, because I'm going to kill her," Duke growled before spinning on his heel and exiting the sick bay through the double doors that Snake Eyes was already opening.

Abruptly, the field medic was alone again, and he breathed out a small sigh of relief, but he had a feeling he'd just been in the eye of the hurricane.

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye was just about to kick the bathroom door in when it swung open, releasing a cloud of steam and revealing a freshly scrubbed Scarlett. She stood in the doorway with the white clouds billowing around her and the harsh, automatic fluorescent lights of the bathroom bouncing off her at strange angles, and Jaye was reminded, oddly and not in a good way, of how she'd looked when she'd emerged from the burning warehouse, haloed in smoke and light.<p>

Shaking the uncomfortable feeling away, she focused instead on feeling jealous of Scarlett—the redhead looked much happier, dressed in a pair of soft black cotton pants and one of the racer-backed shirts she usually worked out in. Her hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in shiny, wet clumps, spotting the olive green shirt with darker patches. Her upper arm was bleeding, and Lady Jaye remembered her pulling a shard of glass out of it before the street gang had taken them down in front of the candy shop. She'd probably reopened it trying to get it clean; they'd wrap it for her in sick bay. She stepped into the hallway, shaking her wet forelock off her face.

"Hey," Flint greeted cheerfully. "Ready to go, Red?"

Scarlett smiled. "Whether I am or not, Jaye's been more than fair about this. Sorry I took so long."

Lady Jaye felt better knowing they were in the home stretch—all that was left now was to escort her to sick bay and she could finally get some sleep. "No big deal. Come on, we should go."

Scarlett opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was another thick, painful-sounding cough. Flint let the redhead past him and brought up the rear. "I'll walk you ladies up, in case I need to carry Lady Jaye to bed."

"Ha, ha," Jaye chuckled dryly. "Thanks but no thanks, Flint. She should have been there half an hour ago, so we need to fly under the radar here or we'll risk getting busted."

Flint arched a brow, giving them a look of mock severity. "Are you saying I can't be discreet?" he asked, and Scarlett gave an especially short, sharp cough. Both the corporal and the warrant officer looked sharply at her, and she waved a hand apologetically in front of her throat as though indicating she couldn't help it, but Lady Jaye wasn't convinced. She didn't need to be fluent in ASL to know the universal sign for "bullshit".

"All right, Flint, if you insist on coming, then make yourself useful—keep an eye out. Scarlett was ordered to go straight to sick bay, and Duke's just looking for an excuse. If he catches us here with her, he'll court-martial the three of us."

"Now who's being silly?" Flint chuckled, but when they got out of the living quarters and passed the elevator bank which marked the center of the floor, he obediently went ahead to check out the corridor to the sick bay, giving Jaye a thumbs-up and returning to guard their backs. "You're good down to the next corner, and no one's coming down from the medical side as far as I can see. Although, it would help if Scarlett didn't give away our position," he joked.

Scarlett was once again slightly doubled over, one hand clutching at her chest and the other fist pressed to her mouth. She attempted to speak, but interrupted herself with another thick cough.

"Sorry," she finally managed to grate out.

"Jesus," Lady Jaye said as she offered Scarlett an arm and steered her forward. "I really should have taken you straight from debriefing. Come on, let's—"

The time it had taken for Scarlett to recover from her coughing fit had been enough time for the two Joes down the corridor to exit the sick bay and head towards the elevator bank, and rounding the corner caused Flint, Lady Jaye and Scarlett to walk right into them—Scarlett actually bounced off of Snake Eyes and ended up a few steps behind Lady Jaye and Flint, wheezing.

Duke and Snake Eyes seemed to fill the entire corridor, effectively blocking the way to the sick bay. Snake Eyes' arms were folded across his muscular chest; he seemed to loom over them like an unmovable sentinel. His thermals were still torn over his shoulder and shin, and blood had dried in patches on the exposed skin—he hadn't bothered to clean up before tracking Scarlett down, meaning he hadn't trusted Lady Jaye to keep her promise. This annoyed the corporal slightly—she hadn't broken her promise; Snake had said not to leave Scarlett alone until she'd gotten to sick bay, and Jaye _hadn't_; it had just taken them a little longer to get down here. Although, listening to Scarlett whoop in air behind them and realizing what time it was, she wasn't sure she could blame him entirely for looking ticked off.

For his part, Duke looked furious, strong jaw set as though he were about to conduct a frontal assault on a battalion of enemy soldiers instead of a couple of bedraggled Joes, and it was obvious the storm in his arctic eyes was about to break all over them. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, and the veins that stood out in his muscular forearms bespoke the tension singing through them, as though if he didn't concentrate on leashing his anger, he'd smash his fist into the nearest flat surface. The sick bay was at the end of the corridor, and the only way was through the two men.

Not missing a beat, Flint murmured to Lady Jaye in a stage whisper, "Duke and Snake at twelve o'clock." She turned a withering look to him, resisting an urge to stomp his instep.

The corporal met the angry gaze and the ominous visor before her with a sigh. "Is it too late to go back to the city and deal with a few more street gangs?"

* * *

><p>Snake Eyes made a mental note to yell at Lady Jaye later, even if it meant skipping the sign language entirely and writing her a very angry note in capital letters. Hadn't he told her to take Scarlett down to the sick bay over half an hour ago? She'd <em>been<em> on the damn detail, she'd _seen_ what a bad way Scarlett was in. _I should have taken her down myself_, he thought angrily. _My fault for being careless_. Still, he'd have thought Jaye would have had more sense. He couldn't wait to hear the corporal's explanation—she'd better have had a hell of a good reason to wait this long, and it better not have had anything to do with the inexplicable presence of Flint.

The warrant officer, for his part, was standing off to the side; this wasn't his fight, and likely he wouldn't jump in unless someone lit into Lady Jaye—another good reason to wait and let the corporal have it later, on paper, in angry capitals. With a _red_ pen, Snake Eyes decided as Duke threw the gauntlet. But it wasn't Lady Jaye or Flint the master sergeant targeted—his freezing glare was only for Scarlett.

"Are you _deaf_, O'Hara?" Duke growled, his voice huge in the enclosed space. "What did I just tell you?"

Lady Jaye set her jaw, ready to dig in if necessary, but Scarlett was nonplussed. "You said go to sick bay," the redhead protested, indicating the end of the corridor with a wave of her hand. "I'm going to sick bay right now."

"I said go _directly_ to sick bay. What part of _directly_ don't you understand?"

"I _heard_ you, Duke. I just wanted to take a shower—"

"You ignored a direct order," Duke interrupted flatly. "If you _hear_ me, Scarlett, then why don't you _listen_ to me?" He stepped into her with one big boot, and that one movement would have made any greenshirt immediately step back. Scarlett, however, gave no ground.

"Are you seriously standing here ready to jam me up for taking a _shower_?" the redhead demanded, her strained voice sounding like she'd swallowed a razor blade. "_What_ is your _problem_?"

_What, indeed_, Snake Eyes thought as all eyes, including his own, turned to the master sergeant. He wasn't about to argue when he was in agreement with his C.O.—the goal was to get Scarlett medical attention, and having the clout of the top kick behind that aim served the commando's interest as well—but ever since he'd lost his temper in debriefing, it seemed as though Duke was taking the whole insubordination thing rather personally.

"My problem, Scarlett, is that I gave an order and you ignored it," Duke said tersely. "I don't care how many times you say you're fine, if I order you to get a medical clearance, then _damn_ _it_, you _will_ get a medical clearance. I haven't got time to waste chasing you around."

Snake Eyes tilted his head at their C.O. once more. Again, he agreed with the statement—the master sergeant was right, and Scarlett was wrong—but Duke appeared to have forgotten that coming down here to check on Scarlett had been _his_ idea and was instead acting like he'd been summoned. None of that made sense, either, but the commando filed it away to think on later, behind ensuring Scarlett was all right and procuring a red marker to let Lady Jaye know exactly how annoyed he was with her.

Scarlett's eyes were hazy with fatigue and anger. "No one t—" She coughed thickly. "—_told_ you to chase me around. _Either_ of you," she said, wheeling to glare at Snake Eyes. "What are _you_ doing here? Don't you trust me either?"

This was a trap. The short answer was no, in this instance, he didn't—and had no reason to, since she clearly hadn't done what she'd been told. But if he said that, he'd be on the receiving end of the usual lecture about her capability and her ability to take care of herself, none of which was ever really in question unless she needed an excuse to argue with him. Snake Eyes' signs were forceful—he brushed a thumb against his chin and thrust it outward at the redhead, then bent his fingertips towards each other and tapped them together. {_Not fair_.}

"Don't tell me about fair," Scarlett declared heatedly. "The two of you have been ganging up on me all night. I can't decide whether to feel angry or flattered," she said, tilting her head arrogantly and striding right towards the two men, who moved aside for her. She continued down the corridor for a few feet, then turned to drawl her parting shot, her voice poisonously sweet. "After all, you came all the way down here just to see me."

Duke's voice was dangerous. "Scarlett, in thirty seconds, I'd better not be able to."

She narrowed her eyes. "Relax, Top Kick. I'm go—" She coughed, tried again. "I'm—"

Scarlett's oxygen-starved system had officially had enough. Her fair skin tinted pink with strain, and one hand fluttered up, hovering uncertainly between her heart and her lips as she tried to draw breath and couldn't. A look of confusion flickered briefly across her face, and she shuddered, once, twice as she attempted again to pull air into her lungs. She swayed for a space of seconds before her expression melted into a totally alien look of surprise and helplessness, and she listed to the side, the hand that had been at her heart reaching out, dreamlike, as her legs crumpled beneath her.

Snake Eyes' thermals had been ripped over his shoulder when Pilar Vasquez had tackled him to the train tracks; Scarlett's blindly clutching hand hooked into the hole in the garment when she collapsed, her weight tearing the fabric further down his arm before she landed heavily in Duke's lap, having knocked the master sergeant to the floor.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

_**She's Too Much: **_It's my schtick, and has been for years, to open my chapters with a lyric or a poem. In this case, I didn't mean to use two Duran Duran songs in a row (being a child of the 80s, I'm a huge fan of Duran Duran—just saw them in concert last fall and they are amazing) but I couldn't help myself. _She's Too Much_ is actually about Simon LeBon's daughter, but it's a song that always makes me feel happy.

**The Cobra Pogo Ball:** One of this redhead's favorite things to do is read pop culture articles at Cracked dot com. One of my personal favorites is in fact with regard to _G.I. Joe_—specifically, "The 20 Stupidest G.I. Joe Vehicles Ever". The Cobra Pogo Ball, in my own humble opinion, should rank #1 in the "More Dangerous to the Pilot" category—the caption simply (and astutely) reads, "Oh for crying out loud. This is going to get someone _killed_."

**"I don't give a Van Damme":** Lady Jaye can't possibly be referring to my favorite Jean-Claude Van Damme film, in which Van Damme's character fools an MP by asking to take a shower and then goes AWOL in order to enter the illegal underground Kumite tournament in Hong Kong. *winks* I mean, that'd be anachronistic—_Bloodsport_ wasn't released until 1988.

**On living quarters:** There are quite a few designs for the Pit (since it's been destroyed and rebuilt a number of times). For this fic, I used the blueprint in Marvel _G.I. Joe_ #22, which abstractly defines that sick bay and living quarters are on the same floor. It's a modern liberty I've taken here by giving Scarlett and Lady Jaye private rooms with a shared bathroom—this is what most modern military installations do as opposed to using barracks, and being female and thus in the minority on the team, it made sense to do this rather than have shared quarters. Again, just a liberty; if there's a problem with that, please feel free to take it up with my associate here *smiles and points to three-foot plush wolf*.

**The Steadfast Tin Soldier** is one of my favorite fairy tales—Hans Christian Andersen wrote about the titular soldier with one leg, who loved the ballerina on pointe with the spangle on her sash. It's been interpreted lots of different ways, from animation to ballet to opera, but the meaning remains the same—loyalty is so underrated and so very important, no matter who you fall in love with.

**Next chapter:** Scarlett finally makes it to sick bay…unfortunately, not the way her comrades had in mind.


	7. This Her Fever

**Author's Introduction:**

Again, many thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed *smiles* Hearing your thoughts and reactions is a real treat for me; thanks for making it that much more fun to tell this tale. Is its title starting to make sense yet?

*waves bandaged hand in self-disgust* I checked and rechecked this, but if there are any spelling errors I missed, please forgive them because it's hard to type with this on. You really do learn something new every day—this week I learned that after twenty-four hours have passed, you can't get stitches even if you needed them. Oh well, maybe this will close on its own. *chuckles* On with the show.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Seven: This Her Fever<span>**

_O wrangling schools, that search what fire  
>Shall burn this world, had none the wit<br>Unto this knowledge to aspire  
>That this her fever might be it?<em>

**(John Donne, _A Fever_)**

* * *

><p>Under other circumstances, it might have looked romantic—a kneeling man holding a wounded woman in his arms.<p>

Duke had been prepared for anything _but_ this. He'd been prepared to find out that his orders had been disobeyed, and he'd certainly been prepared for Scarlett to get up in his face about it. He'd been ready to pull rank and drag her kicking and screaming down the corridor to sick bay if that was what was necessary to get her there.

But there was no preparing for the sight of Scarlett, all grace and speed in the field, listing to the side and collapsing against him, one hand clutching blindly at Snake Eyes as she knocked Duke off-balance so that the master sergeant ended up sitting in his own surprise, his arms full of her. Scarlett would no more have shown physical weakness than she'd have burst into tears in the middle of the corridor, and she lay heavy across Duke's lap, blood-bright forelock obscuring her face.

For a moment no one moved. Lady Jaye had seized Flint's arm, her bloodless knuckles indicating her shock as much as the almost-comical expression of horror on her face. The warrant officer's eyes were wide, and he had a hand pressed to the small of Jaye's back, bringing her close to him reflexively to protect her from whatever had struck Scarlett down. Even Snake Eyes' lightning-fast reflexes seemed suspended; he stood stock still over Scarlett and Duke, the torn strip of fabric Scarlett had desperately grasped dangling at his elbow like a loose strip of skin.

The stunned silence was broken by a rattling wheeze from the downed redhead, a sound so awful that it started the clock again. Everyone sprang forward as Duke carefully untangled himself from her as quickly as possible. Scarlett curled away from him, a painful, whooping cough shaking her body. She'd come into the corridor with her damp hair loose, a rarity for her; now it pooled on the floor of the corridor like blood.

Oddly, Duke remembered the sign he'd exchanged with Snake Eyes before coming down here, the drag of fingers up his arm, across his shoulder—he hadn't become first shirt of this outfit by standing around waiting for someone else to take charge. His mind shifted back into gear as he knelt at Scarlett's side, and it was the Top Kick's voice that spoke now, putting all his strength behind the order he roared at them.

"_Medic_!"

It was the warrant officer who moved first, his heavy boots abusing the corridor floor as he covered the distance between them and sick bay like a man on fire. The world closed in around Duke as Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes each dropped to their knees at his side, reaching for their fallen friend. "Scarlett?" the corporal asked, jamming an arm roughly past Duke's shoulder to press two fingers to the redhead's neck, feeling for a pulse. "Scarlett, can you hear me?"

Scarlett rolled onto her back, chest heaving, and her hands came up between her and the other Joes, batting Jaye's hand away. All assumed it was to stifle her coughing, to clutch at her throat, so when she began a twitchy series of signs no one was prepared. She flattened both hands, sweeping her right hand around her left in a wobbly half-circle, then touched her fists together before her eyes and drew them down beside her face shakily.

"She's trying to sign," Jaye said in disbelief, leaning in closer as if she could "hear" better that way. "What is it, Scarlett? What?"

Scarlett repeated the gesture, hands shaking badly as she circled one palm with the other. She touched her fists together once more, then framed her face again, her eyes ablaze with concentration, and Duke's mind supplied nightmare-fuel memories of Sunday-school lessons from his childhood, the dying Maria Goretti struggling to speak. Finally, Scarlett stabbed the air before her weakly with both index fingers, and it was only when the sign was complete that she succumbed, that tortured whistle coming from her constricted throat again, falling back as though a light had turned off inside her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, lashes fluttering to give peekaboo glimpses of the whites beneath, lips parting in a last-ditch plea for air as her head lolled to the side, bright hair a spreading bloodstain off the west coast of her face.

"..._What_?" Lady Jaye said helplessly, turning to the commando. "That doesn't make any—did you get any of that, Snake?"

Snake Eyes wasn't listening; his hands shot up to his face—not to sign, but to clutch at the balaclava and visor that were hopelessly anchored to his fatigues. Duke caught the jerky whip of the commando's head from Scarlett to sick bay and back again, and the master sergeant would reflect later that it was as close as he'd ever seen Snake Eyes to panic. Snake's intent was clear, but time was a luxury they couldn't afford.

"She can't breathe. Give me some room," Duke ordered, lacing his fingers over Scarlett's chest to begin compressions, his hands feeling monstrous and unnatural as he pressed down once, twice, five times. Pinching off her nose and sealing his mouth over hers, he forced two quick breaths into her, but it did nothing to jump-start her own respiration. The next two breaths he forced into her went similarly unanswered, and for a minute he felt sure she would die right there, his hands on her heart and his mouth on hers, but he issued one more order, the most important he'd given all morning.

"Goddamn it, _come on_, Shana," he growled, instinct telling him to use all his considerable strength as he repeated the compressions, but her rib cage felt crushable under his hands and he forced himself to get a handle on his own nerves. "Come on, honey, open your eyes."

For the first time all day, Scarlett obeyed him. The blue eyes shot wide and she jackknifed up with a full-throated cough. She clutched at him, nails scraping his forearm and hand as he carefully pushed her back down. Her panicked gaze bounced from Joe to Joe, that hideous wheezing sound telling them the fight was not yet over, and Snake Eyes reached for her hand. Giving it a visible squeeze, the commando then bent his hand, tapping his fingers twice against his wrist. Duke knew that one—"doctor".

Duke nodded before the commando had even regained his feet. "On the double," he said by way of agreement. "_Go_." Giving Scarlett's hand another comforting squeeze, Snake Eyes bolted down the corridor, disappearing before anyone could blink.

Lady Jaye hadn't seen the sign; a wordless exclamation left her lips as she watched him vanish in a blur of ninja speed. "What the h—Snake, where are you going?"

Duke shook his head at her, but there was no time to explain that the commando was the only other person who knew the whereabouts of Doc. The master sergeant was a bit surprised at the commando's initiative, figuring that Snake Eyes wouldn't leave Scarlett's side, but he wasn't about to shoot a gift horse—there wasn't a soldier in the Pit faster.

Before Duke even had time to be grateful for that fact, pounding footsteps and shouting alerted him to the fact that Flint had finally returned with Lifeline in tow. "What kept you?" he barked to the warrant officer, although somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew only a few moments had passed. But the two men hadn't come empty-handed—Lifeline was already looping an oxygen mask over Scarlett's face while Flint manhandled a collapsible gurney down the corridor. Lady Jaye immediately jumped to assist him, taking half the gurney's weight and lowering it carefully to the floor.

Scarlett's gaze bounced around wildly and she turned her head, dislodging the mask as Lifeline attempted to secure the slender emergency tank it was attached to. "Calm down, Scarlett! Don't fight me," the medic said firmly, continuing his efforts even as she reached up to paw at the mask that was helping her breathe. Unsure of how to stop her from inadvertently hurting herself, Duke did the first thing he could think of—grasping her hands, he forced them to her sides and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing.

"I'm here, Red. Don't move if you can help it." Scarlett blinked rapidly, her labored breathing hissing and clicking as it was assisted by the oxygen tank.

"I'm just about ready, Duke." Lifeline was adjusting the gurney, securing the oxygen tank for the short trip to sick bay. "On three, all right?"

Nodding, the master sergeant squeezed Scarlett's hands once more before shifting his hold, one hand sliding to support her back, the other her knees. "I've got you, Scarlett. Hang in there," he said, feeling her frantic heartbeat pound along his skin for only a minute before Lifeline maneuvered the gurney into position.

"Careful, now. On three," the medic repeated. "One, two—_three_. Flint, take that end of the—be _careful_, Faireborne, I don't time to take care of Scarlett _and_ reattach your _fingers_—" The gurney snapped into its upright position with a metallic _clank_ and Lifeline looped the restraints across to keep her still, yanking them as tight as he dared. Scarlett struggled weakly to free herself, the twin constrictions of the mask and the restraints too much for her even in her addled state, but the straps held. "Got it. Doors please," Lifeline requested briskly, and Lady Jaye and Flint were quick to oblige as the medic circled the gurney to begin pushing.

Whatever his feelings were on the war they fought daily, when it came to his true calling as a healer, Lifeline had a great game face—he never looked like he was nervous, even though it was clear from the pace of the gurney's wheels that he was rushing. Duke only realized this when he noticed that he himself was jogging to keep up with it. Scarlett's assisted breathing sounded like a bucket of bolts; the panic in her heavily blinking eyes was quickly being replaced by fatigue.

"No," Lifeline said as they got to the doors Lady Jaye and Flint were already holding open, going so far as to take one hand off the gurney and putting his entire arm out as though he would bar the remaining Joes' advance. "No one goes any further. Snake will be along with Doc any minute, and you can't be in here while we're working."

"Then throw me out," the master sergeant challenged, leveling his steeliest gaze on the medic.

Lifeline's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly; he was reluctant, but ready, to fight this one out. "I can't _force_ you out, but you're only endangering Scarlett by getting in my way." The medic's already carefully modulated voice was quieter as he added, "You did all you could. Please, let me do my job."

Duke didn't have a good argument for that—he didn't even have a bad one. "You don't need my permission, Lifeline," the master sergeant barked. "Why are you still standing here?"

He thought the medic smiled as he resumed pushing the gurney, but Lifeline's movements were too quick to really be sure. Lady Jaye had taken hold of Scarlett's hand while the men had been arguing, but the resumed motion of the gurney forced her to let go now, the formless comfort she'd been murmuring to the redhead trailing off as her hand fell empty to her side. She and Flint let the sick bay doors swing closed, and the corporal pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. "_Jesus_."

Flint was at her side before she even finished speaking, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Where the hell is _Snake_?"

Duke stationed himself against the wall, staring coldly down the corridor. "I don't know, but he's got thirty seconds before I stop believing all the stories about him."

* * *

><p>"That was <em>intense<em>," Cover Girl panted as she halted in the center of the corridor, letting her head drop so her strawberry blonde hair tumbled over her face. "I can barely walk."

"Aww," Shipwreck purred, a smile on his face. "Beach Head leave you feeling sore, Cover Girl?"

"Are you kidding? Thanks to him, I'll be sore for days," Cover Girl lamented, playing right into the sailor's hands; when she realized he'd tricked her into an unwittingly suggestive remark, she swatted at him. "Grow up, Shipwreck!"

Shipwreck's parrot, Polly, had been riding placidly on his shoulder up to this point. Now the bird flapped its wings with a squawk. "Grow up, sailor!"

"Need a hand?" the sailor wheedled, ignoring the pesky bird. "If you want, I'll carry you to the motor pool."

"I'd rather trench crawl the whole way there," Cover Girl declared, drawing herself up to her full height. "You're going to need someone to carry you to sick bay in a minute if you keep giving me shit about P.T. I saw you facedown in the mud pit this morning, struggling to breathe."

Shipwreck chuckled, staggering backward with a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Cover Girl."

"I'm _going_ to, in a m—"

Cover Girl never got to finish the sentence; both Joes turned their heads at the sound of footsteps pounding down the corridor. A second later, Snake Eyes blasted into view, running full tilt towards them with no sign of slowing.

"_Hit the deck_!" Shipwreck shouted, instinctively throwing an arm over Cover Girl as the two Joes kissed the floor. Turning his head, the sailor saw a dark blur as Snake Eyes, unwilling or unable to stop, leapt to the corridor wall and continued running there until he passed them, maintaining his speed with his body almost perpendicular to the wall. Once he was safely past the downed Joes, he jumped off the wall and sprinted out of sight.

A few feathers drifted down from above; Polly was fluttering frenetically near the ceiling with a squawk of alarm. "Gangway, sailor! Gangway!"

"Did you see that...?" Shipwreck blinked; he'd worked with Snake Eyes long enough to know that nothing one heard about him was rumor, but even still, every so often he'd get a reminder of exactly how much the commando was not to be messed with. "Did you see...?"

"All I see is _floor_." Cover Girl shrugged Shipwreck's arm off her, but far more gently than she would have if he'd simply been flirting. "Did someone get the license number of that..._ninja_?"

* * *

><p>Snake Eyes had barely registered what a close call he'd just had, but the absence of screams in his wake were enough to assure him that Shipwreck and Cover Girl—at least he was pretty sure it was them, it had all happened so fast—were fine; still, it was only his carefully honed, lightning-fast reflexes that had prevented him from pretty much vaporizing them on impact. He'd reached terminal velocity before he'd even left the sick bay corridor, and he still wasn't sure how he'd stop without injury upon arriving at his destination, but his own safety was unimportant compared to the task at hand. Slowing down was not an option; stopping was impossible.<p>

Still, he'd almost been glad for the distraction of the obstacle; anything to tear his attention away from the blood hammering in his ears, from the racing thoughts that were outpacing him even as he ran faster than he'd ever remembered being able to.

_Scarlett. Scarlett. _

That look on her face...he'd never seen her look like that before. Scarlett was no shrinking violet; everything about her was strong and sure, and even now he didn't want to admit that the look of shocked confusion on her face as she'd fallen had frightened him. Even more frustrating was the fact that there had been no way for him to perform CPR in time, thanks to the mask, the mask, the damnable mask. Duke had taken the helm at that point, and Snake had winced at the sight of the master sergeant's large hands bracing against Scarlett's chest, waiting for the _pop_ of a cracked rib or a mewl of agony from the downed redhead, but the only sound of pain had been Duke's as he'd entreated Scarlett not to give up, that frustrated request a leader's plea on behalf of all the worried Joes at her side.

"_**Come**__ on, Shana, open your eyes..._"

Had she? Where was she now? Had they gotten her to sick bay? Was she breathing easier? Was someone with her, or was she alone?

She'd looked so surprised, as if even then, she'd really believed nothing was wrong with her. Breathing was a function so simple as to be unconscious, something everyone took for granted until they couldn't do it anymore, and that look on her face when she hadn't been able to, when she'd struggled for breath and it hadn't come...ending with that awful moment when her eyes had rolled back and she'd gone limp.

Luckily, the chill that had gripped him had been replaced by a jolt of adrenaline when she'd come back to life with a gasp, body arching reflexively as she pulled air desperately into her lungs. He'd been stung out of his paralysis then, hating to leave her side but knowing he could be most useful by bringing her help as fast as possible.

And there was no one faster, he reminded himself. No one.

The loose strip of torn fabric on his fatigues flapped annoyingly at his elbow as he ran, one more distraction, a hideous reminder of the way she'd reached for him, clutched at him, and he hadn't been in time to stop her fall—too slow, too _slow_—

He wouldn't be slow now. He'd be anything but.

_Hold on, Scarlett. I'm on my way. I'm coming..._

Doc was luckier than Cover Girl and Shipwreck for two reasons—one, he managed to catch a glimpse of the approaching commando in his peripheral vision in enough time to put his back against the wall, and two, he was on the right side of the quartermaster's half door, which Snake would have thought nothing of vaulting should he need to go any further. The commando stopped hard, ignoring the pain in the foot he'd used as a brake.

Not for the first time since the street crime detail, which seemed a lifetime ago now, Snake Eyes wished for a voice to call out. Instead, he cocked his fists with both thumbs extended, giving one a half turn and bringing it close to the other. {_Follow me_.}

Mercifully, Doc pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an index finger, his eyes steeling behind them as he pushed off the wall without a word. He nodded, not bothering with questions, and he didn't need Snake Eyes to tell him to run; he was already at a moderate jog waiting for the commando to lead the way. Snake was happy to oblige, vision narrowing to the path ahead as he picked up speed once more, every step bringing help that much closer.

Not then or ever would he clearly remember the trip back to sick bay, the tunnel vision taking him over, the destination the only thing that mattered. Rounding the corner down to sick bay, he was heartened by a snippet of seemingly calm conversation. Screams would have been bad; silence worse.

"...fore I stop believing all the stories about him." This from Duke, who was now standing with his arms folded across his chest. The expression on his face was grim, but he seemed far less agitated than before. Lady Jaye was leaning into Flint's hold, looking exhausted; the warrant officer had a hand cupped around her shoulder.

For the first time since departing the corridor, Snake Eyes slowed, letting Doc overtake him—the commando had slowed down considerably to allow for the other man to keep up, but they'd still made good time on the return trip. Before he even had to ask, they all started speaking at once.

"Scarlett—" Duke began.

"She can't breathe—" Lady Jaye said, at the same time Flint said, "She fell—"

Doc held up a hand for silence. "One at a time."

Snake Eyes shook his head fiercely and tapped two fingers against his wrist sharply. {_**No**__ time!_}

It was Lady Jaye who made the information bite-sized enough for the medic that he wasn't going in blind. "She was in a fire on the detail. She was coughing. She couldn't walk—she couldn't _breathe_."

That was enough for Doc; with another businesslike nod, he was past them and through the sick bay doors without another word.

His part over for now, Snake Eyes allowed himself to relax fractionally, leaning against the wall of the corridor with his visor trained on the still-swinging doors. Lady Jaye didn't smile, but her eyes were gentle as she took the wall opposite him. "Nice work, Snake. That was fast."

Duke didn't smile either, but his nod was firm. "And that," he said, "is why I still believe all the stories."

* * *

><p>When the Dragonfly had touched down on the tarmac at dawn, all Lady Jaye had wanted to do was curl up in her bunk and sleep. Now she forced herself to stay awake by any means necessary—she'd purposely sat in uncomfortable positions, the pins and needles as her legs fell asleep a welcome distraction from her exhaustion. When that stopped working, she stealthily dug nails into her palm, the sharp pain helping a little.<p>

Flint had not reclined beside her, and she was grateful for that fact; if he were any closer she knew she'd succumb to temptation and lean against his shoulder, and she could not sleep—not until they knew Scarlett was all right. She felt the warrant officer's gaze on her but couldn't return the small smile he offered her.

Snake Eyes was sitting still directly across from the sick bay doors, and as usual, there was no telling what was going on behind that mask. Since Doc had disappeared behind the double doors, the commando had remained still as stone and dead silent. Waiting.

Duke wasn't looking at the doors, almost as if he were avoiding them on purpose. He was on his feet, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, closed off and brooding with his body turned away from them all.

"Snake Eyes," Lady Jaye said suddenly, and her voice seemed too loud in the silent corridor. "What did Scarlett say?"

The commando turned his head towards her inquisitively, the first time he'd moved since sitting down across from the doors. Flint looked similarly interested, and even Duke lifted his head idly to listen.

Uncurling herself from her uncomfortable position and stretching her legs out, Jaye continued. "She was signing, remember? She was trying to sign, but I couldn't get a handle on it. Do you know what she said?"

Snake Eyes tilted his head to one side as though remembering; he shrugged, then bent his hands and tapped his chest before stabbing his open palm with his little finger. He touched his brow with his pointer finger, then spread his palm before his mouth as though blowing a kiss before shrugging again. {_I got it…but it didn't make any sense._}

He raised his hands hesitantly and began a sign, then stopped, then started again, then dropped his hands completely, almost as though he were…stuttering. Lady Jaye's brow creased as she watched him struggle with whatever he wanted to say; she was unsure if the signs themselves were difficult, or if the commando just couldn't put whatever he'd "heard" into the proper context. Finally he made a scribbling gesture in the air, one hand held out in supplication.

Flint came up with a pen—he usually kept one in his breast pocket, and today was no exception—but no one had anything to write on. Overcome with curiosity, Lady Jaye was about to offer her arm until Duke revealed that he'd been listening to their exchange more closely than it had seemed. Taking a few steps across the corridor, he silently offered Snake Eyes a piece of paper, which Jaye realized on closer inspection was a half-completed purchase order that the master sergeant had likely shoved in a pocket earlier and then forgotten about.

Snake Eyes took the paper and unfolded it completely, attempting to smooth it out on the floor of the corridor. It took a few minutes of scratching at the paper for the pen to make a mark, but when he could finally get it to write, the commando dashed off a few short words and held the paper up in front of Lady Jaye.

The corporal's brow creased as she read. "I still don't—"

Before she finished the sentence, the double doors swung open to reveal Lifeline, who was polishing his glasses on his shirttail. Snake Eyes jumped to his feet, jamming the paper into a pocket of his fatigues. Lady Jaye got up as well, legs tingling with pins and needles from her earlier attempts to keep herself awake by sitting uncomfortably. Flint's presence was a silent, rock steady comfort at her elbow. He didn't touch her, but he didn't have to—just feeling the warmth of him close to her was enough to strengthen her for whatever they were about to hear.

A look of alarm crossed Lifeline's face when he found them all still waiting outside, ready to crowd into the room where Scarlett was installed; it looked as though the medic was running the odds and knew they could overpower him if they all insisted on going in. "I can't let you all in at once," he hazarded, and Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes stepped forward immediately as if sharing one mind.

Duke was running odds of his own; he dealt with the problem as efficiently as he knew how. "Everyone who is not a patient, a medical technician or code-named _Duke_, get out of here."

This was a severe tactical error, despite it being within the master sergeant's rights to pull rank—trying to keep Snake Eyes away from Scarlett when she was in danger was like waving a red flag in front of a bull. Now the commando folded his arms and spread his feet slightly to anchor himself, letting his right foot fall heavily for emphasis. No words or signs were needed; it would take an entire platoon to move him and he was making it clear that it would be a waste of everyone's time trying to force him out.

For her part, Lady Jaye made an indignant sound and whirled on her C.O., ready to back Snake up. "_Forget it_, Hauser! Snake Eyes and I have been on this ride from the beginning. We're not going _anywhere_." For a moment their gazes dueled as Snake Eyes watched silently, and it was Duke who relented, exhaling sharply and settling his weight back on his heels with the slightest of nods, as if he were agreeing more with his own thoughts than with Lady Jaye.

Lifeline put his glasses back on his nose, holding up a warning hand. "I can't—"

But the G.I. Joes' first shirt knew how to choose his battles. "Make an exception," the master sergeant ordered, narrowing frosty eyes on the medic, the tone of his voice making it clear he would brook no arguments.

Flint put a hand on Lady Jaye's shoulder; when she looked at him to question the contact, he gave her an encouraging smile, ready to take one for the team. "You go ahead. I've got some things I need to take care of, and you can catch me up later."

Lady Jaye nodded, touching the hand he had on her shoulder briefly as a send-off. "Right."

Duke nodded at Flint. "Thanks for the help earlier."

"You bet. Keep me posted," the warrant officer said, then turned to stride off down the corridor. When he'd disappeared around the corner, Duke, Lady Jaye and Snake Eyes turned towards a reluctant Lifeline.

"Duke…"

Rather than argue outright, Duke's tone was jovial, almost light, as he threw the gauntlet. "I don't know, Lifeline, I can do this all day. Snake?"

The commando picked up on the master sergeant's tactic immediately. He pointed to himself and bent his middle finger and thumb against his chest, his other fingers spread, then placed both his hands palm up and made a small circle with each before turning to Lady Jaye. {_I like it here. Lady Jaye?_}

Lady Jaye almost smiled as she fielded the fly. "I've got nothing better to do today. Let's hang out."

It didn't take long for Lifeline to realize he was outgunned. Sighing, he nodded and turned to lead the three Joes into sick bay rather than continue the standoff. "…Fine. Let's go." But the medic halted at the doors, whirling on them as though he couldn't reenter the room before getting one last shot off. Stabbing at Duke fiercely with his index finger, he said, "Listen very carefully to me. You're getting in here because you're obviously concerned about Scarlett—_not _because you're ordering me to. I want you to know that." His stern glance flicked around to include Snake Eyes and Lady Jaye. "That goes for you two as well."

Duke had the grace to look briefly uncomfortable, while Snake Eyes and Lady Jaye exchanged glances. The latter gave Lifeline a nod, and he looked satisfied, if not happy. "Only for a few minutes," the medic continued as he pushed the double doors open, leading the Joes into what served as the sick bay's pre-op area. "And if Doc says you've got to leave, you're out of here, all of you—no exceptions."

Duke had recovered enough to get back to business. "Secure the guilt trip, Lifeline. Give me a sit rep and I'll quit darkening your doorway. Deal?"

"Deal," was the answer, but not from Lifeline—from Doc, who had heard them enter the room and was coming towards them, looking as collected as he had when he'd first shown up in the corridor behind Snake Eyes. The three Joes halted, waiting for him to come to them; as he walked, the medic removed a bloody latex glove with a _snap_. He paused at the room's scrub sink, discarding the glove along with its twin in a wastebin on the floor before twisting the tap to wash his hands.

Snake Eyes drew a finger down his lips quickly, then placed one hand flat on his chest and drew the other loosely down. {_Blood_?}

Lady Jaye put a calming hand on his arm. "Her shoulder. She fell through the window at the candy shop and there was glass in her arm—she pulled it out. It was bleeding again when she got out of the shower—she must have reopened it."

"So that's how that happened," Doc said, shaking excess water off his hands and reaching for a towel. "At any rate, it's wrapped now. It was only a small laceration—she won't even have a scar, but that's the least of her worries right now." Putting the towel aside, he turned to give them his full attention. "She's stable, but not conscious. I've got to tell you, it was a photo finish. A few more minutes and I'd have a much worse report for you right now."

No one said anything; each Joe was reliving their part in assisting their fallen friend.

Doc turned to Lady Jaye. "You said that Scarlett was having trouble walking earlier, Lady Jaye."

Lady Jaye rubbed a hand up her arm. "When we left Duke's office after debriefing, she kept knocking into me, like she was…"

"Like she was dizzy?" Doc asked pointedly.

Lady Jaye nodded. "…Yeah. She couldn't seem to walk in a straight line. I thought…" The corporal's voice softened. "I thought she was just tired. She _said_ she was just tired…I should have known better."

"We _all_ should have known better," Duke said, his voice flat with self-disgust. "She could barely breathe during the debrief. Kept coughing."

"She should have come in right away," Doc agreed. "It's a miracle she made it as long as she did; breathing in superheated air swells the airway. Scarlett was lucky; CPR bought her enough time for us to hook her up to the oxygen tank. We've got a breathing tube in right now, and we're monitoring how much oxygen is in her bloodstream. Ideally, once that's within safe levels, she should come out of the coma."

"So she'll snap out of it," Lady Jaye said, sounding slightly relieved. By contrast, Duke mistrustfully inquired, "_Should_?"

"We're doing everything we can," Doc said firmly, displaying a bedside manner that had been fire-hardened by years of dealing with a team in which the ninjas broke out of the sick bay on a regular basis, the women constantly tried to out-macho the men, and _everyone_ refused treatment whenever possible. "She's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances."

"Doing _well_? She's not _breathing_ on her own," Duke hissed, hands curling into fists, veins standing out on his forearms as though he were struggling to keep them at his sides.

"Give it time," Lifeline reiterated. "We've done all we can for now."

Snake Eyes curled his hands into fists and pushed down, then indicated the assembled Joes before pointing at his eyes with two fingers and gesturing further into sick bay. {_Can we see her_?}

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt for a minute or two, but I don't want her crowded," Doc warned, moving aside to let them through to the next room.

Snake Eyes had made the request thinking it would be comforting to see Scarlett safely installed in the sick bay, but he immediately realized it had been a mistake; it was not at all comforting to see the friendly, plucky redhead lying so quiet and still. Her bright hair was tangled around her face, lashes two dark crescents on her cheek. A small clamp was clipped to her finger, its wire stretching to the monitor Doc had mentioned, and her mouth was closed over a plastic tube, which was secured with tape so she wouldn't inadvertently jar it loose if she moved. The commando listened to the respirator compensating for her constricted alveoli while she slept, and were it not for the tube, he would have said that she looked untroubled for the first time since they'd deployed on the street crime detail. The monitors were beeping a steady rhythm, telling the assembled Joes that her heart was still beating on the other end of the electrodes, but no one looked reassured.

It was Lady Jaye who broke the silence. "She has a lovely face," she quoted idly. "God in His mercy lend her grace, the lady of Shalott."

Snake Eyes moved forward. Carefully uncurling Scarlett's clenched fists, he placed her hands gently at her sides, nodding idly at how much more comfortable the small gesture made her seem. He motioned to the tube and jabbed his index fingers towards each other, pointing at Scarlett. {_Does that hurt her_?}

"No, but it's necessary to keep her airway open in case of swelling. When she's breathing on her own and we're sure there's no more danger of that, we can take it out."

Snake Eyes took one of Scarlett's hands in his, stroking his thumb idly over her knuckles, but Scarlett gave no sign that she felt his touch or heard their voices. Duke frowned. "And if that doesn't happen?"

Doc sighed. "If her condition worsens, we may have to move her to a hospital where she can receive hyperbaric treatment."

"Would moving her be safe?"

"It's not ideal, no, but it may not even come to that," Doc said. "The next few hours are crucial—which is why I'm going to advise that the three of you leave so she can rest."

Snake Eyes didn't let go of Scarlett's hand, but he managed to sign with only one—pointing at her, he bent his index finger and his thumb like a pincer and stabbed downward, brushed a thumb against his chin outward and repeated the motion with a flat hand perpendicular to his lips. Finally he pointed to the ceiling and drew a circle with his index finger. {_She should not be alone._}

"Snake Eyes and I can stay with her," Lady Jaye offered immediately.

"Negative." Doc shook his head. "You're both exhausted from the detail and need rest yourselves."

"We can take shifts," Lady Jaye insisted. "I'm good. Snake?"

But the medic was unwilling to budge. "Sorry, Lady Jaye, but until Scarlett's condition improves, we can't risk anything impeding her recovery."

"How is _sitting_ with her going to _impede_ anything?" Jaye demanded hotly.

Shaking his head, Snake Eyes placed his free hand loosely on his chest, then flicked it away. {_I don't like it._}

"Not asking you to like it. Asking you to let us do our job," Doc said, much as Lifeline had earlier.

Duke had been uncharacteristically silent during the argument; now circled the bed opposite Snake Eyes to give the sleeping redhead one last look. He glared at the monitors as though they were a team of recruits who had disappointed the hell out of him, then spun on his heel, snarling something under his breath. "I want updates," he barked. "If she wakes, if she moves, if she _blinks_ I want to be notified." With that, the master sergeant stalked out of the infirmary. He did not look back.

Snake Eyes squeezed Scarlett's hand and turned to Doc, gesturing to himself and extending his hand from his temple before bringing both index fingers around to point back at himself. {_I will come back_.}

"Thank you, Doc," Lady Jaye murmured, trailing after the commando as he exited the room. There was no sign of Duke in the pre-op area, nor did they see him in the corridor.

Lady Jaye snorted tiredly. "You know, for someone who was ready to bull right through Lifeline to get into sick bay, he sure cut out of here in a hurry. What's the deal?"

Snake Eyes had been close enough to hear what the "deal" was, and while he understood Lady Jaye's confusion, he also shared the master sergeant's sentiment, muttered in frustration as they were forced to walk away from their injured comrade.

_Damn it, Shana._

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye didn't make it more than two steps out of sick bay before Snake Eyes' muscular arm flashed out to bar her advance, his stone hand slamming into the wall with a sound like a gunshot.<p>

Jaye flinched, but just barely; it worked in her favor that she was too distracted by the day's troubles to even fully register what the commando had done. Once she had, she felt an answering anger; she was not in the mood to deal with a tantrum, no matter who was throwing it.

Turning her head deliberately slowly, she dragged her response out. "Ye-e-e-s?"

Snake Eyes' signs were furious. Both hands shot up in a shrug, then flipped over and rocked back and forth forcefully. He pointed to himself and rotated his index finger before his mouth so fast it was a blur, then repeated the shrug and extended his thumb and pinky before bringing his knuckles to his chin so hard she thought he might knock himself out. Extending both thumbs and bringing his fists together at the knuckles in front of him, he stabbed the air between them with his index finger. {_What did I tell you? What's __**wrong**__ with you?}_

Lady Jaye reached up and shoved the commando's accusing forefinger out of her face, her voice low and dangerous. "Oh my God, you'd better be kidding."

Snake extended his thumb and pinky again, sliding his fist back and forth, knuckles down, then pointed at the floor, and when he shifted his hands up and down he did it so fiercely Jaye thought they might actually catch fire. Pointing to himself, he touched an index finger to his mouth and extended it outward and down, then flipped his hands around so that his palms faced down. Circling the corner of his visor with pointed index and middle fingers, he gestured forcefully to the sick bay doors. {_Like hell! I said __**watch**__ her!_}

"I _did_ watch her!" Lady Jaye snarled. "I watched her run into that fire, and I watched her refuse to let the paramedics look at her. I watched her stumble and cough and fight to breathe, and I watched her fall, and you know what, Snake, so did _you_, and so did Flint, and so did Duke. And we didn't _do_ anything. We didn't do anything until it was almost too late. And I..."

The commando had stilled during her speech, and as she watched him shift his weight back to his heels while he considered her words, she felt her fury ebb away, replaced by a profound feeling of frightened exhaustion. "And I..."

After another moment of contemplation, Snake Eyes shook his head and extended his hand, a sign that needed no translation.

Jaye shook the offered hand, but halfheartedly; she glanced at the closed sick bay doors, then back at Snake Eyes. "I'm sorry," she finished in defeat, shaking her own head miserably. "I am so sorry."

She wasn't just apologizing to Snake Eyes, and it seemed the commando was aware of that fact. He circled a closed fist over his heart and extended his thumb and pinky, sliding his hand back and forth, knuckles down. He'd begun the sign with his visor trained on Jaye, but his vision, like hers, had wandered to the doors beyond which their fallen friend lay. {_I'm sorry too._}

* * *

><p>After leaving sick bay, Lady Jaye debated over whether or not to drop in on Flint—he would be expecting an update on Scarlett's condition, and it seemed unfair to leave him out after all he'd been through with them that morning, but she ultimately decided against it and slipped back to her quarters as quickly as possible. Her entire body felt like an open wound; all the injuries she'd incurred on the detail were reasserting themselves, and she was so tired her teeth were aching. She told herself that Duke would catch the warrant officer up if they ran into each other, but the truth was, she didn't trust herself around Flint right now. As much as she wanted to hear the soothing bass timbre of his voice telling her everything would be all right, she knew that when he did, she'd collapse against him and wouldn't be able to hold the tears back any longer.<p>

_Scarlett is stable_, she reminded herself as she pushed open the door to her quarters. _Doc said she'd come out of it. It __**is**__ going to be all right. It __**is**__._

The room was spartan, containing a single bed, a bureau and a simple desk with a wheeled chair tucked beneath it, along with a shallow closet. It certainly wasn't a luxury hotel, but Jaye never complained—she knew they were lucky to even have single rooms. As a whole, the military was moving past barracks, but the Pit was designed to be easily concealed, not comfortable, and any expenditure of extra space was a luxury. Right now, the small room looked like heaven after the morning she'd had.

The bed was calling to her, but she forced herself not to simply collapse onto it facedown and let the world drift away—she was filthy, and the clean sheets would only feel better after she showered. Heading instead to the small bureau, she yanked out the middle drawer and rifled through it, searching for the pair of cotton workout pants she'd been meaning to throw away and hadn't. Despite the simplicity of their lodging, Jaye was a clothes horse (with Scarlett's permission, she'd hollowed out a small space in the redhead's bureau next door for wardrobe overflow, and several of the outfits in Scarlett's closet were in fact on loan from the Hart-Burnett Collection) and she kept meaning to pare things down, but she was glad when her hand closed on the garment now—the worn fabric had been softened by repeated washings and promised not to lay too heavy on her tired body. She grabbed the pants and a simple camisole, the one Flint said was his favorite because of the low dip of its scooped neckline, then shut the drawer and headed to the closet for a towel. When she'd found one she slipped next door to the bathroom she and Scarlett shared between their quarters. The sound of the doorknob's tumblers clicking into place echoed in the tiled room before being swallowed by the whir of the fans, which, like the lights, activated automatically when someone entered the room.

Like the living quarters, the bathroom wasn't an exercise in luxury; two sinks were set into a counter by the door, with a napkin dispenser set into the wall above them. Two metal stalls housed the commodes, while the two shower stalls had no doors at all, just liner curtains. The two chairs that sat in front of the showers were plastic and were used more to keep things off the floor and for tying boots than to sit in. Jaye's aching bones throbbed for a minute at the idea of having a long soak in a hot tub, but she pushed the daydream firmly away and took a step towards the showers, only to stop when she saw Scarlett's fatigues draped over the chair at the far end. She'd put them there when she'd come in to shower, and they'd been in such a hurry to get her to sick bay before anyone realized they'd detoured that she'd left them behind.

Dropping her own clothes on the empty chair, Lady Jaye moved Scarlett's breastplate aside carefully and picked up the dirty gray jumpsuit beneath it, poking her fingers through the bloody tear in its shoulder. Jaye thought idly that aside from the breastplate, which was smudged with soot and dinged in a few places but otherwise undamaged, and the blackened boots that rested beneath the chair, the uniform was likely not worth saving. Moving the breastplate shifted the garments, dislodging Scarlett's belt, which rattled to the floor. Picking it up, Lady Jaye heard a sound like a maraca and opened one of the pouches, finding two strange items—a bottle of aspirin and a slightly creased lottery ticket. It took half a minute's worth of concentrating for Jaye to remember that Scarlett had purchased the items in the city in order to gain information from the local merchants. After a moment's thought, she replaced the aspirin but put the lottery ticket on the other chair, atop her neatly folded civvies.

Pulling aside the flimsy liner curtain, Lady Jaye twisted the shower taps, holding a hand under the water to gauge its temperature. As she waited for it to warm up, still fully dressed, she glanced around at the empty room. The running water filled her ears with white noise; coupled with the steadily whirring fans, she realized it was doubtful anything could be heard over it from outside. The fluorescent lights bounced painfully back off the tile, and Jaye felt a chill overtake her as she realizing that the entire room was comprised of hard surfaces, her mind supplying unpleasant memories of Scarlett swaying on her feet in the corridors earlier.

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph_, Jaye thought with slowly dawning horror. _She was alone in here for over ten minutes. She could have fallen, hit her head...I'd never have heard it._

What if Scarlett had stopped breathing here, instead of in the corridor leading to sick bay? Even if Lady Jaye and Flint had heard her, sick bay was all the way across the floor. _We might not have gotten her there in time, _Jaye realized sickly_. How could I have let her come here? Why did I leave her alone?_

She didn't remember sinking to the floor, but she became suddenly aware of the chill of the tile beneath her. The water, hot now, drummed against the tiled wall, clouds of steam billowing up towards the ceiling, but Jaye didn't move except to bury her face in her wet hands, her words muffled against her palms and hidden beneath the racket of air and water in the room.

"I'm sorry, Shana. I'm sorry, Shana."

* * *

><p>By the time Duke left the sick bay, Zap, Quick Kick and Spirit had arrived back at the Pit. Initially he'd been grateful for a distraction, but he hadn't made it halfway to his office before he'd been stopped twice by curious Joes who'd heard that Scarlett was in bad shape. He decided to stop for coffee at the commissary, figuring caffeine might improve his mood, but left without it upon discovering Shipwreck holding court there. The sailor was telling a story about having seen Snake Eyes running fast enough to break the sound barrier in the corridors, and once he'd heard that Scarlett was injured, he'd made the connection rather quickly.<p>

_Goddamn Flint_, Duke thought, trying to suppress a sudden urge to go find the warrant officer and clip his big mouth with a right cross. _Everyone would have found out eventually. Couldn't he have waited even an hour before spilling his guts to the nearest Joe, coffee machine or parrot?_

He did his best to dodge the curious Joes who approached him asking for news on Scarlett's condition; when he absolutely couldn't avoid them he kept his answers brief—"She's stable for now." Naturally, this wasn't good enough for the concerned Joes, but he put them off as best he could and escaped to his office, issuing instructions to bring Zap, Spirit and Quick Kick there for debrief as soon as possible.

When they finally did show, the irrepressible Zap was ready with a chuckle and a grin. "The guys and I have been talking, Top Kick, and we've decided our feelings are hurt," he laughed as he entered the office, his helmet under his arm. "We heard you greeted Lady Jaye, Scarlett and Snake Eyes in person, and all we got was a—"

The artillery expert's mouth and feet both stopped abruptly, causing a small pile-up as Quick Kick and Spirit ran out of room and knocked into him. However, the tracker and the martial artist didn't seem too upset; they were looking with a similar silent concern at their C.O., who frowned back at them impatiently and beckoned them inside from behind his desk.

After they'd shuffled in curiously, Zap asked the question for all of them. "Everything O.K., Duke? You look like hell."

Silently, the master sergeant counted to ten before he answered. "I'm fine. I'm _breathing_, aren't I?"

Their mildly surprised looks told him he hadn't done as good a job keeping his voice even as he'd thought.

"Let's go," he said wearily, motioning them forward. "I'm sure you three are tired." Goodness knew he was. "How did it go on the street crime detail?"

Zap sighed. "I'm sure the others told you how it went. And if they said anything other than _insane_, they were lying."

"I got there late and I still hit my daily quota for insanity," Quick Kick agreed with a weary smile. "I was only there for the last leg of the journey, and there were Crimson Guards, Dreadnoks, explosions, a fire and a surprise appearance by the U.S. Coast Guard."

Duke's jaw tightened at the mention of the fire. "All right, let's start at the beginning. Zap, Spirit, Snake Eyes reported that the Dreadnoks managed to split you guys off from Lady Jaye and Scarlett pretty early."

"Correct," Spirit said. The tracker looked as though he'd spent part of the return trip replaiting his hair; it was tidy compared to his dusty clothes and bruised knuckles. "They collapsed the fire escape and took us prisoner. We ended up in the subway."

"We almost managed to get out of there pretty early, but those damned Dreadnoks didn't think anything of usin' those kids as cannon fodder," Zap continued in disgust. "Snake lagged back to save that gang leader, Pilar, and we weren't about to leave him."

Duke nodded. "Good." As they continued giving him the rundown of their part in the mission, he didn't hear anything that didn't match the report he'd gotten from Snake Eyes, and he was pleased to hear that they'd worked as a team rather than splitting off and taking needless risks.

"Storm Shadow made an appearance, but didn't engage us directly," Spirit said upon describing their imprisonment in the subway. "He was simply relaying a message to the Dreadnoks to be on the lookout for Firefly. We managed to make good our escape later on with the help of Lady Jaye, Scarlett and Quick Kick."

"All in a day's work," Quick Kick said, chuckling. "You guys didn't need half as much saving as those street punks. They sent you there to defuse the gangs and you guys spent all day _rescuing_ them instead! First Snake Eyes gets trapped trying to haul that girl off a subway track, then Scarlett has to yank her and her brother out of a burning building!"

"I still can't believe she did that," Zap said. "We didn't have any gear and she just charged right on in there and came back out with the kid slung over her shoulder like a sack of grain. Hey," the artillery expert said, as though struck by a thought, "is she O.K.? She didn't look too good, you know, after."

"She's in sick bay." There was no getting around it; they'd hear eventually anyway.

"No kidding? I knew she wasn't fine, but she kept saying those kids should get checked out first—"

"You escaped the subway," Duke prodded, a little more sternly than he'd intended; the artillery expert looked briefly startled.

"Er…"

Spirit salvaged the exchange smoothly. "Upon defeating the Crimson Guardsmen holding us captive, we were able to get the location of the final Cobra assault on Robert Harper—which, as I'm sure you know by now, turned out to be merely a stunt to promote the man."

Duke nodded. "The others told me that Harper was a Cobra pawn, but they were all too happy to toss him overboard when his cover was blown."

"Literally," Quick Kick laughed. "We saw him treading water at the end of the night, watching Zartan and Firefly disappear."

"That'll do. Good work, all of you," Duke said, leaning back in his chair.

The Joes exchanged glances. "That's it?" Spirit asked.

"Is there something else I need to know?" Smiling conspiratorially at them, he said, "Relax, guys. You all had a long day, and I know you're exhausted. I'm not going to grill you too hard, I promise."

Looking at the relieved faces of his tired soldiers, Duke could see that this was the right tactic; they were simply happy to put a bullet in the detail and get some well-deserved shut-eye. He was ready to put it all behind him too; he'd gotten the majority of the details from Snake already, and these reports simply confirmed it. If they never discussed this miserable mission again it'd be too soon.

"You guys are good," he continued. "Like I told the others, it's too bad we couldn't apprehend any of those jokers, but sending them off with their tails between their legs is going to have to be good enough. Dismissed."

"So what's the word on Scarlett?" Quick Kick asked. "When's she getting out of sick bay?"

"I don't know," Duke said. "You guys are off the duty roster till tomorrow, so go take it easy."

Zap frowned. "So it's bad? Can we see her?"

Duke pushed his chair back and got to his feet, ready to simply shepherd the Joes out of his office if it meant he could have peace and quiet. He told himself not to blame them for being curious—they had as much of a right to be concerned about their injured comrade as anyone in the Pit, maybe even more so, since they'd been in the thick of it with her—but he had no news to give them and if he had to tell the story one more time he was going to put a fist through the wall in frustration. "Yes. Yes, it's bad and no, you can't. No one's allowed to see her until her condition improves, and if anyone asks, you can tell them that comes straight from Doc. You're all three dismissed." He figured he had maybe thirty more seconds of politeness left in him and hoped they wouldn't tax it further.

Quick Kick, who had come late to the detail and thus was the least tired of all the returning Joes, tried to leave on a positive note. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be fine. Scarlett's tough, you know?"

"Yes, I know." Duke gave them a look, displaying one palm in a casual shrug. "Do I look like I'm worried?"

Once the door had finally closed behind them, the master sergeant closed his eyes to enjoy the quiet, and instead was treated to a voice echoing in the corridor beyond his office.

"_That was a rhetorical question, right_?"

* * *

><p><em>The green hell. <em>

_The scent of the wet earth was heavy in his nostrils as he leaned back against the tree. Tommy was talking again, always talking—Snake Eyes had half a mind to tell him to secure it till they were airborne, but the only threat they'd encountered on their miserable crawl out of this stinking valley was lying dead in the reeds fifty feet away, an arrow through his throat, sightless eyes staring into the yellow sky. He'd never report anything to anyone ever again._

_"...all this behind me," Tommy was saying. "It's about time I acknowledged my responsibilities to the family business." He smiled, then, but his expression melted back into severity. "You know, I bet there'd be room at the firm for a strong man, someone they could depend on. I could put in a good word when we get home..."_

_Snake Eyes' ears had only perked up at the trigger words of "home" and "family". Reaching up, he carefully plucked his talisman from the band of his hat—a single photograph. One of the edges was bent and a chunk had been taken out of the border when he'd been careless putting it away, but from within the print, his twin sister smiled at him, and he could never help returning that smile. That smile was home; **she** was home. He couldn't wait to see her face again, feel her arms wrap around him in a welcoming embrace..._

_Helicopter blades distracted him from the thought that had kept him slogging through every dismal rice paddy, every hip-deep swamp. Glancing up, he saw the welcome sight of the chopper descending to lift them out of here, and he allowed himself to relax fractionally. _

_That proved to be a mistake thirty seconds later, when they stood up to break cover and the sky exploded. _

_Tracer streaked the air, a red rain that made the valley glow with the fires of hell, and the air was full of sound. Bullets, war cries. A sharp pain ripped along his forehead, and blood rose to warm the wound immediately. Something punched through his shoulder, dropped him hard. **Hit. I'm... **_

_Dimly, he heard the chopper blades still spinning, Stalker yelling to Tommy that they had to get out of here, rightthehellnowgoddamnit. Getting up on hands and knees, Snake Eyes tried desperately to see through the blood clouding his vision. His shoulder was cold, numb with uselessness, but he wasn't dead and he wasn't leaving without his photograph, the talisman whose unfailing luck had protected his head from the fatal blow. **Just grazed me...where's...?** _

_The world was soaked in blood, and the constant stream of gunfire made the air around him shimmer. Lying prone on the ground, he wiped his eyes along his forearm, the scent of wet earth in his nose replaced by cordite, blood and sweat. Blinking, he focused on the ground just ahead of him, and there—it was a little dirty, and he could see the scorched edges of a bullet hole in it, but the photograph was in front of him, facedown, just beyond where he lay. He could reach it, he just had to try..._

_Stretching out the arm that wasn't numb with a bullet wound, Snake Eyes' trembling fingers scraped the dirt until he could just touch the tip of the photograph. Using the last of his strength, he thrust his arm forward that crucial inch and seized his prize, bringing it close. He let his bleeding head drop to his forearm for a brief second, feeling better already knowing that his good-luck charm was back within his grasp._

_But when he turned it over to look at it, it wasn't his sister's familiar smile that he saw. The girl in the photo was different, but no less lovely, her soft smile sparkling up at him, a long tail of red hair bound just over one shoulder. _

_Red tracer screamed around him, the sky full of hellish light, and he reached to touch the photograph in disbelief, fingertips inadvertently smearing blood across the image. A terrible feeling gripped him as he watched it drip down her pale cheek, stain her pretty smile. _

_**No. No...**_

_Her name came to him just as the dream shattered into a thousand pieces, but he had no voice to scream it as he woke, lips twisting silently around it as he jackknifed upright in the dark._

For a long time, Snake Eyes sat motionless, trying to reconnect with reality. He attempted to calm his harsh breathing, concentrated on his pounding heart until it slowed. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he reminded himself what year it was. The green hell was years and miles away now, and Charlie was gone. The three good soldiers who'd gone with them into that valley were gone, and Snake's own voice was gone.

All gone, along with his sister.

He remembered that awful day, when he'd seen the look on Hawk's face and he'd _known_, known that the news was going to be terrible, that Terri would smile forever in the photograph he still clutched, but not again, never again anywhere else. Since then, he'd been used to his nights being haunted by dreams of the faces of the ones he'd lost. But he was chilled to the bone at the memory of this dream, the way the blood had spread over the smiling face of the one he couldn't imagine losing.

Doc's report in the sick bay, his face schooled into steely calm as he refused to reassure them with lies, saying everything and nothing with a catalogue of facts that couldn't have meant less to anyone without a medical degree. The faces of the men delivering bad news over the years had changed somewhat, but it seemed the news itself never did. Friends and family, sisters and soldiers all fell down...

Pressing the heels of his hands over his closed eyes, he tried to grind the unpleasant images away—Scarlett lying so still and quiet, machines breathing for her; Scarlett in the photo in his memory, another pretty smile he might never see again.

_No_, Snake Eyes thought fiercely, throwing the thin blanket aside, the cold floor a welcome shock on his bare feet. _Not again. Damn it, not again!_

Like the women's quarters, Snake's room was spartan. Being an original member of the team, he'd wrangled a single bunk rather easily—although few would have argued the masked commando's right to privacy. Glancing at the clock, he realized he'd slept longer than he'd thought. Good—he wasn't ready to go back there, not yet. Not until he was so exhausted he'd fall down deep, down where the dreams couldn't touch him. He'd spend some time in the gym—hell, he'd run the obstacle course ten times if he had to.

He dressed impatiently, yanking at drawers, slamming doors. Before leaving the darkened room, he glanced at the torn, bloody fatigues he'd thrown carelessly to the floor upon his return to his quarters—he'd been so desperate to close his eyes after the awful morning that he hadn't even bothered to throw them out. Now he went through the pockets efficiently, looking for anything he might want to take with him should he decide to leave the Pit for an extended workout.

His hand closed on a crumpled piece of paper in one of the pockets.

A puzzled look came over the commando's unmasked face as he extracted the paper, unfolding and smoothing it as best he could. After a few minutes' worth of concentrating in the near-darkness, he recognized it as a half-completed purchase order, which didn't make sense until he remembered taking it from Duke in the sick bay corridor. He'd needed to write something down—something for Lady Jaye; she'd wanted to know what Scarlett had signed in those last minutes, and try as he might, Snake Eyes hadn't been able to translate for her. He'd known the words, but the context had escaped him.

Staring at them now, the context still escaped him; the phrase he'd scrawled on the paper was, for all intents and purposes, senseless. It wasn't even grammatically correct.

_ALL SYSTEM GO_

The commando brought the paper closer to his unmasked face, as though doing so might make the words make sense somehow. Silently, he repeated the phrase in his head, looking for any clue as to what Scarlett had been trying to say.

_All system go. All system... _he thought in confusion. Could she have been trying to say "all _systems_"? Like question marks, plurals were a fun hurdle when it came to ASL; context played a huge part in translating anything said in sign language. But even if that were true and she had been trying for the colloquialism, why in hell would she say that when she was struggling to breathe on the floor of the sick bay corridor, about to slip into a coma?

Why say it at all?

Snake Eyes shook his head, crumpling the paper in his fist. She'd been frightened and confused, and the phrase was likely just gibberish, the ramblings of an addled, injured soldier. Still...it was an oddly specific phrase, for someone spouting nonsense. A silly phrase, when you got right down to it—something uttered by jarheads and paramilitary wannabes who wanted to make themselves sound like trenchermen. Most people said something like that as a joke, because the phrase itself was so outlandish. Who really ever said "all systems go"?

The answer came to him in a rush of clarity that he'd only experienced a handful of times before, in places like sensory deprivation tanks, or a familiar mountaintop, or sitting beneath a waterfall and learning to ignore its constant hammer on his body. _Scarlett_—Scarlett said "all systems go".

In fact, she said it a lot. And there had been more than one time when it hadn't exactly made the most sense, now that he remembered.

She'd said it once during a jump, a routine exercise they were doing just to recertify. Scarlett, Snake Eyes, Steeler, Rock n'Roll and Duke had been airborne, and the master sergeant had been going over the order. "_Ladies first_," he'd joked with a smirk in the redhead's direction. "_Scarlett, you're up_."

She'd smirked right back, given him a thumbs-up. "_All systems go_," she'd replied, even though he'd given her an order, not asked her for a status report.

Still, Duke had responded as though what Scarlett had said was perfectly sensible. "_Roger that. Move out_." And she'd flashed them that million-dollar smile for one more second before launching herself into space, then she was gone.

More instances in which Scarlett had repeated the odd phrase made themselves known to Snake Eyes—laughing it during an impromptu game of two-man touch that had broken out on the parade ground one particularly hot day; murmuring it as she left the war room to deploy on a mission, grating it into her radio after a vehicle accident, bleeding and catching her breath.

That last one was the most senseless of all the instances Snake Eyes could remember—and these were only the times _he_ had witnessed; surely other people had heard her too, and if they'd cared to think on it at all, they'd probably been as confused as he now was. At any rate, the other vehicle had radioed them to check their status after the crash, and Scarlett was patently _not_ all right, but she'd still assured their teammates that all systems were go. When they clearly _weren't_. And if Duke had known she was lying—and the man wasn't stupid, he had to have known even hearing the strain in her voice—he hadn't called her on it, simply responded with a noncommittal "Roger that."

_Roger that. _Come to think of it, he'd responded pretty much the same way every time Snake had heard Scarlett use the hokey phrase. Actually, every time she'd ever said it that Snake could remember, Duke had been there, or at least within earshot, and he'd always said the same thing—except when he was the one giving Scarlett the silly phrase and she was the one supplying a matter-of-fact "Roger that" in response. Like it was an inside joke of some kind, a game.

Firmly, Snake Eyes told himself that he was finally starting to lose touch with reality. _You're seeing—hearing—things that aren't there, he told himself. Silly things._

But now that the thought had occurred to him, he found himself unable to think of anything else. So Scarlett and Duke played a little game between them. That in itself was hardly cause for concern; the Joes played as hard as they worked—it was what they had to do to stay sane in the global warzone they lived in, what they had to do to keep some sense of who they were in the constant battle against Cobra.

_But why __**now**__?_ he thought. _She was in danger, __**dying**__—it was no time for games. Duke couldn't even understand what she was signing—why was it so important to her? Why use those precious minutes to say something so...__**ridiculous**__?_

He looked at the paper again, saw the words in his own handwriting—_ALL SYSTEM GO_—and remembered how he'd struggled to translate it for Lady Jaye. _Scarlett helped Duke in the debrief, _Snake remembered_. Prompted him when he couldn't follow my report. She __**knows**__ he doesn't always understand sign language. What…?_

With the _why_ already half-answered in his mind, the _what_ became apparent in a final wave of clarity that made his head ache.

* * *

><p>Flint didn't catch up with Lady Jaye until evening, which wasn't unusual for them; the warrant officer had a rather old-fashioned sense of chivalry—no matter how busy the day was, he hated to end it without saying good night to his best girl. It was never the best idea to try and call on her in her quarters, but after the day they'd had, he was willing to risk it—Duke was pretty generous about turning a blind eye to them and Flint was sure the master sergeant would give him a bye considering the stress they were under, especially Lady Jaye—it was obvious she was taking Scarlett's injury rather hard.<p>

As it turned out, he didn't even need to breach the women's quarters—he cut through the lounge and found Jaye there, huddled into a corner of the sofa and staring blankly at the television set. She was in casual clothes, the camisole he especially liked offering a teasing glimpse of cleavage due to the fact that she was hugging her knees. He could tell she hadn't bothered much with her fine, cropped hair after she'd washed it earlier; it had dried fluffy, sticking out in places adorably like the down on a chick.

"Hey," he said gently, smiling at her as he circled the sofa. "I was just coming to check up on you. I thought you'd still be resting."

"Hi." She tilted her face to him tiredly, and his smile faded. He'd seen her in the heat of battle, spattered with mud and gore, and he'd seen her flushed and unguarded in the early hours when no one knew they were together, but he was still unsettled by the sight of her now. Normally she never had a hair out of place, but now there were shadows under her eyes and the tip of her nose was slightly pink.

He especially didn't like knowing she'd been crying.

With a flick of his head, he indicated the door. "Come on. Why don't I walk you back to your room? You should take it easy."

But she squirmed in her seat, arching her body and craning her neck to see around him. "O.K. I just want to watch this first."

Glancing at the television set, Flint frowned at the sight of a plastic-haired newscaster with an 88-key smile promising them that after the weather he'd have more shocking revelations about the latest drug plaguing America's schools. "It's the evening news." An unsettling thought occurred to him—he knew there'd been news coverage of the problems surrounding the political rally, and while it was proper protocol for G.I. Joe to do whatever they could to stay off-camera, sometimes it was unavoidable. He didn't really want to see footage of Scarlett rushing into a burning building every hour, on the hour, and he didn't want Jaye to, either.

He reached for her hand as the five-day forecast flashed onto the screen. "Don't watch that, Lady Jaye. You'll just make yourself crazy."

Lady Jaye had become more alert; she sounded more like herself as she shook her head determinedly. "One more minute. I need to see this."

"Jaye..."

But the weatherman had been replaced by a girl in a sparkling peach-colored evening gown, every painstakingly-set rhinestone flashing like a camera as she moved her hands to gracefully display a large white board in the studio. Lady Jaye leaned towards the screen as she spoke.

"_And tonight's winning lotto numbers are...seven...twenty-six...eleven...two...forty-nine..._"

The expression on Lady Jaye's face didn't change as the numbers were called and posted to the white board. The girl completed her announcement, clapping her hands and happily turning the broadcast over to Dan in the studio, and she looked like she couldn't wait to get out of her twenty-pound dress and call it a night.

"All right," Jaye said evenly, turning to Flint. "Thanks for coming to check on me."

Flint glanced from her to the television confusedly. "That's it?" he chuckled, admittedly relieved that she wasn't looking for news on their mission. "Did you win anything?"

Lady Jaye sighed, opening her hand to reveal a crinkled lottery ticket. "No, but it's all right. I'd rather save good luck for when we really need it, anyway."

"That sounds like a good idea." Holding out both hands to her, Flint was happy when she tossed the ticket idly aside and accepted them, letting him pull her to her feet. "Come on, beautiful. I'll walk you home." He winked.

Jaye finally smiled back. "Mind if we make a few stops first?"

* * *

><p>It was a well-known fact around the Pit that Duke had turned down a commission, not liking the idea of driving a desk while his men bled and died in the trenches. The master sergeant's heart was and would always be on the front lines. But he took his administrative responsibilities as seriously as he took any other part of his command, while he didn't love it nearly as well—the frown on his face when Lady Jaye and Flint were bid entry into his office didn't surprise them due to the phone that was cradled between his shoulder and ear.<p>

"Sorry, Duke, didn't mean to interrupt," Flint said.

The master sergeant shook his head, settling the phone more comfortably on his shoulder and bracing it with one hand. Tinny music piped out of the receiver; after a few seconds, Jaye's ears resolved the tune as Goodman's rerecording of _You're a Sweet Little Headache_.

"I'm on hold. What's up?"

"We're headed to sick bay to check on Scarlett. Why don't you come with us?" Lady Jaye said.

Given his multiple losses of temper since they'd returned from the street crime detail, most if not all of which had originated with Scarlett's deteriorating condition, both Lady Jaye and Flint had been sure that the master sergeant would have jumped at the chance to check on their injured Joe. But his jaw tightened and he shook his head, a short blond forelock falling over his troubled blue eyes. "Negative. We were told to stay out."

"It'd just be for a minute," Lady Jaye pressed. "How are we supposed to know if she's improved if we don't check in every once in a while?"

Duke frowned. "And you want me there because...?"

Lady Jaye and Flint exchanged glances, and when the warrant officer spoke it sounded thin even to Jaye's ears. "Well...you sure seemed concerned about her earlier."

Duke's arctic eyes narrowed. "I am always concerned when my men are injured. And what good is worrying going to do exactly?"

Lady Jaye blinked, unprepared for this opposition. "You were there with us this morning. Don't you want an update?"

"Doc and Lifeline know to give me an update, when there's news," Duke said. "Want to throw the ball one more time?"

"Fine," Jaye said flatly. "We need you there to pull rank when Doc inevitably tells us to get lost."

While all three lines of reasoning had, in Lady Jaye's opinion, been true, only this last got the master sergeant's attention. He offered them a smirk as the hold music piping through the phone became an arrangement entreating them to dream a little dream of it. "Nice try, Lady Jaye. Do your own dirty work," Duke said, sounding mildly amused. "I know you're not afraid to stand up to orders you don't agree with."

Lady Jaye frowned at the obvious dig from their argument that morning over entrance to the infirmary. "Cheap shot, Hauser."

"I know. You were right, and I backed off, didn't I?" He turned slightly in his chair, as though he was through discussing it. "Go on ahead. As you can see, I'm kind of in the middle of something here."

"So blow it off," Flint said, sounding mildly incredulous. "I'm sure it can wait until you see Scarlett."

"It's important," was Duke's dismissive answer. "Go on without me. Let me know if there's any change."

"You could come _see_ if there's any change," Lady Jaye insisted, but the master sergeant wasn't listening—the music stopped abruptly and a nasal voice could be heard on the other end of the line, although neither Jaye nor Flint could make out the words.

Duke waved them out and pointed to the phone with an apologetic look, and when he turned his chair away from them this time it was a sure indication the discussion was closed. Lady Jaye and Flint exchanged confused glances, then retreated in defeat, closing the door behind them.

* * *

><p>Duke was getting tired of having to all but throw people out of his office; he was relieved when Lady Jaye and Flint decided to cut their losses and left. As it stood, he still had to ask the woman on the other end of the line to repeat herself.<p>

"_I just wanted to thank you for holding. How can I help you, Sergeant…I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?_"

"Hauser," Duke reminded her. "I've been holding for a telephone number for a local business. Holding for a very long time, actually."

"_Right, thanks for your patience, Sergeant Hauser, it's just that I had trouble without knowing the actual name of the business._"

"I understand, you're just trying to do your job," he said amiably, wishing he'd asked Lady Jaye if there'd been a name painted on the window she'd been thrown through; still, he could stand being put on hold and slowly falling asleep to the tune of 40s big band if it meant he was done explaining his actions for one day. "Sorry, the best I could do was a general location. Any luck?"

"_I did find one listing that matched your description, Sergeant Hauser. I hope it's the right one! Please stand by while I connect you, and have a good night_," the switchboard operator chirped. She sounded young; he pictured her behind a desk in an evening-darkened room, a headset creasing what had begun the morning as a careful updo, tiny glasses perched on her nose.

"It's far too late for that, ma'am," he said wearily. "But thank you."

* * *

><p>The infirmary was darkened, the steady <em>beep<em> of the monitors doing little to mask the robotic sound of the respirator's bellows expanding and contracting as it breathed for Scarlett. She looked exactly the same as she had when they'd left her there earlier, the tube still in place, her eyes still closed.

Immediately, he knew he had been right not to follow Lady Jaye and Flint here, right to come alone—his voice betrayed him immediately, going hoarse as he greeted the unconscious woman. "Heya, Red."

At first glance, Conrad Hauser was intimidating, the way any man could be intimidating when he looked as though sheer strength and size had seen him through most of his problems. But that illusion would have been dispelled immediately as soon as he took her hand in both of his—so gently, as though he were afraid he'd hurt her simply by being there. When there was no response, disappointment flickered briefly through his eyes, quick and far off, like lightning over the ocean.

Well, it wasn't like he'd thought she'd wake for him when she hadn't for the others…not really, anyway…

"I've been on the phone all evening," he told her. "Checking up on those kids you pulled out of the fire. They're going to be just fine. The hospital released them to their mother. She wasn't too keen on speaking to me at first, but she remembers you and Lady Jaye. All I had to do was drop your names, and she was falling all over herself to tell me the kids were fine, and that as God was her witness they were going to stay out of trouble from now on. I just…I thought you'd want to know."

Was it his imagination that her hand felt cold? He rubbed it gently between his as he continued, the motion doing a poor job of distracting him from this more disturbing portion of his report. "She said she wanted to thank you again for saving her babies," he said. "I told her I'd pass that message along to you. And here I am."

Silence; Scarlett's hand remained motionless in his, lashes dark crescents on her pale cheek.

"I hate seeing you like this." He blurted it out without meaning to, the words wobbling badly as he spoke them, and he knew that staying any longer would be risking everything, that precarious balance he worked so hard to maintain. Squeezing her hand and placing it carefully at her side, he straightened, saying brusquely, "I…I've got to go."

_Stupid_, he chastised himself even as he headed for the door, his stride tense with frustration. Sit reps, small talk. She couldn't hear him anyway, any more than she could have heard Lady Jaye begging to stay with her this morning or felt Snake Eyes' presence at her side as he'd held her hand.

But even as he berated himself for his sentimentality and uselessness, he was stopping, turning back to stand at her bedside once more. It didn't matter whether she could hear him, whether she knew he was there—things needed to be said, and he _was_ there.

His large knuckles stroked her cheek as deceptively gently as he'd held her hand, and when he spoke his voice was steady. "Good night, Shana," he said, then left the room as quietly as he'd come.

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye knocked carefully on the door with her knuckles. "Snake Eyes?" After a few minutes of the door remaining closed, she tried again. "Snake? Are you in there?"<p>

"It's no use, Lady Jaye," Flint said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He didn't answer a half hour ago, and I doubt he came back in between—we weren't at sick bay that long. You know Snake—he's probably taking all this out on a sandbag in the gym or something."

"But we checked the gym, and he wasn't there," Lady Jaye said, a frown creasing her brow. "I just thought maybe he'd like an update on Scarlett."

"_What_ update? Doc didn't let us past the door, just told us she was still stable and kicked us out," Flint said with an irritable shrug.

"Yes, but _stable_ is still better news than _worse_," Jaye said. "Oh, well. We'll catch up with him tomorrow, I guess. No one's seen him for hours."

"That's not unusual for Snake. An update will be even more welcome when the news is good," Flint assured her, smiling as he tucked a short bit of hair behind Jaye's ear. "Don't beat yourself up over it. There's no finding Snake Eyes when he doesn't want to be found."

Lady Jaye laughed for the first time in hours. "You're not kidding. He could be anywhere!"

* * *

><p>The minute Duke closed his office door behind him he knew something wasn't quite right. It wasn't a feeling he could put into words; it was the sort of heightened awareness that came with being one of America's elite soldiers, the sort of hyperawareness that had been beaten into every nerve ending, not just by his training but by the specialized situations they dealt with on a constant basis. The lock was intact and a cursory search of the office revealed no one, but just because the room was empty now didn't mean it had been so the entire time he'd been gone.<p>

His suspicions were confirmed when he circled his desk—nothing was missing, but something had been added. A piece of paper was sitting on his blotter, badly wrinkled, the edges ripply as though it had been crumpled up all day and whoever had left it for him had made a halfhearted attempt to smooth it out. At first glance it seemed like a run-of-the-mill form, but a closer inspection revealed it to be the incomplete purchase order he'd screwed up this morning before debriefing Lady Jaye, Snake Eyes and Scarlett. The few short words handwritten on the form were still plainly visible despite the mangled paper, but it was the second note that got his attention, just as it was intended to, written on a yellow Post-It note torn from the pad that sat just north of the desk blotter. This second note was signed, not with a name, but with a symbol—two squares side by side, a black dot within each boring out from the paper like eyes.

He wasn't even going to question how Snake had gotten in here; Duke's mind treated him to a bizarre mental image of the commando traveling around the Pit's air ducts as though infiltrating a Cobra facility. The real question should have been _why_—the commando had no problem with boundaries and had always treated his C.O. with the respect due him, not just as befit his rank but as befit any comrade-in-arms. That he'd bothered to breach Duke's office meant that the subject at hand had been important.

The crumpled piece of paper had clearly ridden around with the commando for a while; the paper was already softening from the rough handling, and the words were more of a scrawl than Snake's usual surprisingly neat script. That in itself wasn't surprising; everyone had been running on adrenaline, especially Snake Eyes, who had allegedly broken land speed records to fetch Doc from the quartermaster's office according to the few Joes he'd flown by in the corridors.

Like an echo, he heard Lady Jaye's voice in his memory. "_She's trying to sign. What is it, Scarlett_?" Duke hadn't been close enough physically to read what Snake had written when Lady Jaye had asked him to translate after the fact. Now, slowly, he reached out for the crumpled piece of paper, making a futile attempt to smooth it, watching the edges ripple up again despite his efforts, the words seeming to tilt mockingly on the wrinkled page.

_ALL SYSTEM GO_

Scarlett's desperation in those strange seconds, her ferocity as she gathered the last of her strength—not to fight for air, but to speak with shaking hands, get out what she had to have known might be her last words. Lady Jaye's voice again in Duke's memory—"_Did you get any of that, Snake_?"

The commando had; he'd gotten the words, if not the meaning, and he'd written them down for Jaye because he hadn't known how to communicate the contextually insensible phrase properly to her. But they'd forgotten it instantaneously when they'd been interrupted by Lifeline, and had stormed the sick bay to get the news about Scarlett's condition. Subsequently the paper had been crumpled and carried around all day, waiting for Snake Eyes to remember it, and when he finally had, he'd decided it was important enough to warrant breaking into Duke's office to leave not just this note, but the second one, the yellow Post-It that burned against the crumpled paper, the neat script bold and deliberate:

_WE NEED TO TALK_

Duke pushed his chair back but didn't sit, bracing his hands against the desk and leaning heavily on his forearms, staring down at the dice rolling on the note, the yellow Post-It looking absurdly cheerful against the crumpled purchase order and the dark blotter.

It seemed he wasn't done explaining himself today after all.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

**On being Irish Catholic: **I went to parochial school for twelve years, and no one escaped the lower classes without hearing the harrowing story of **St. Maria Goretti**, who died in 1902 after being stabbed eleven times by her older neighbor, who attempted to rape her and became enraged when she protested. (This was the school's advertisement for keeping one's virginity.) It is a rather lovely story, though, actually—Maria is the patron saint of youth not only because she clung to her honor through death, but because she forgave her murderer on her deathbed and entreated her family to do so as well.

"**God in His mercy lend her grace":** In the infirmary, Lady Jaye quotes one of my favorite poems, Alfred, Lord Tennyson's _**The Lady of Shalott**_. Smitten by the sight of Lancelot, the Lady leaves her magic loom and magic mirror and looks down to Camelot after him, only to be struck down by the curse upon her. When the boat carrying her lifeless body floats down to Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table are unnerved and cross themselves in fright, but Lancelot looks upon her, unafraid, and remarks, "She has a lovely face."

**Please hold while we connect you: **While Duke is on hold with the switchboard operator, the hold music Lady Jaye and Flint hear is a Benny Goodman arrangement of _**You're a Sweet Little Headache **_**(1939)**. Bing Crosby performed the song on the soundtrack for the film _Paris Honeymoon_ (1939). The Goodman version can be heard in the awesome film _Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade_, specifically the scene in which Indy discovers that both his and Dr. Elsa Schneider's rooms have been ransacked. The Artie Shaw version (my personal favorite) with Helen Forrest on vocals can be heard in another film I love, _The Rocketeer_, specifically the scene in which Jenny is preparing for her date with Cliff. While it's not mentioned outright, during the Joes' conversation, the music changes eventually to _**Dream a Little Dream of Me**_** (1931)**, which was recorded by Ozzie Nelson and his orchestra, although thanks to my Da, my favorite version is the 1968 cover by Mama Cass of the Mamas and the Papas.

**Dice are rolling: **This chapter contains elements from classic _G.I. Joe #26_. Similarly, in the modern reboots of the story, it's been evidenced that Snake has signed a note with a crudely drawn pair of dice on the ones, something I find adorable and wanted to include here.

**Next chapter: **Scarlett's condition remains in doubt, and Duke can't dodge everyone's questions forever. As for Snake Eyes…well, there's _never _any chance of dodging Snake.


	8. A Clock That's Blinking Eights

**Author's Introduction:**

Once again, I must extend my thanks to everyone who's read and been kind enough to review! It makes me so happy to think I'm entertaining anyone with this story, which I can do because Hasbro and Mr. Larry Hama gave us these wonderful characters in 1982. That being said, I'm going to point out again that this is written largely in keeping with the 1984 _**Sunbow**_canon. Really, I've given more than enough warning on that front, but sometimes things bear repeating.

Thanks to **Bronwynn** for encouragement, a blueprint of the Pit, and an ear that must be sore from listening to my nonsense *smiles* I'll be waiting for a sit rep in case I've screwed anything up this chapter.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Breathless<span>**

_A G.I. Joe fic by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter Eight: A Clock That's Blinking Eights<span>**

_And the picture frames are facing down  
>And the ringing from this empty sound<br>Is deafening and keeping you from sleep  
>And breathing is a foreign task<br>And thinking's just too much to ask  
>And you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights<em>

**(Dashboard Confessional, _The Brilliant Dance_)**

* * *

><p>He couldn't sleep.<p>

He'd stationed himself in the barracks for what felt like ages, waiting for Snake Eyes to return, but there was no sign of the commando and there hadn't been for hours. Eventually, he'd elected to try to sleep—life in the Pit was so erratic that he'd learned long ago it was smartest to sleep or eat whenever you were able, because who knew when you'd have the opportunity again?—but his efforts had proved futile. It wasn't that he wasn't tired—with the nightmare street crime detail still hanging over the Pit like a specter, he was well and truly exhausted; no, this was a different sort of wakefulness, the restless kind that brought a feeling of unease. Try as he might to get into a comfortable position, he couldn't wriggle away from the feeling; it prodded stubbornly at him as though he were lying on a pebble. His troubled mind translated every scent into something heavy and metallic, like bloodflow or the promise of rain. Eventually he gave up and rose, fatigue settling over him like a blanket but still less uncomfortable than trying to sleep on a problem.

He was worried about his Joes.

He was worried about _all_ of his Joes. Somewhere not far from where he roamed, Scarlett was surely still fighting to breathe, and he was worried about the Lady Jaye, who'd spent the evening restlessly pacing the Pit's floors exactly as he was doing now, unable to calm herself enough to lie down.

Most of all, he was worried about Snake Eyes. Only someone who had worked closely with the commando for a long time would have recognized how fractured he was by recent events. There was no way Snake was sleeping either, but it had become apparent that the commando wasn't coming back to the barracks any time soon, so the Joe who sought him now headed for the next logical place—the gym. Even at this time of night, it wasn't unusual for Joes to go there off-hours and tire themselves out venting their frustrations on the equipment so sleep would come easier. He himself could accomplish the same with a long hard run, but tonight was not the night for that; as irritating as his insomnia was, he wanted to be alert if he were needed, even if all he could give was his presence.

It was with this in mind that he entered the room, but he saw he was already too late—the scene of carnage that greeted him was quiet, and the room was empty save for the mangled corpses on the floor. He stepped carefully among them, assessing the damage.

One corpse lay in a corner—a hanging sandbag, its chain severed, broken links scattered around its torn body, which was bleeding sand onto the padded floor. Nearby, two freestanding bags had met similar fates, one knocked over with a good-sized chunk of padding missing, the other simply disemboweled where it stood, its naked support spine sad without the covering of sandy innards.

More shrapnel covered the floor, hungry for his feet as he advanced further into the room—splintered planks of wood that never stood a chance against the onslaught of rage and frustration, bits of paper targets that had been all but shredded in the fury of the storm. Eventually, the commando's anger and frustration had been vented on the concrete blocks that had propped up the wood; they glistened with blood—human blood; Snake Eyes must have dashed his fists against them when there hadn't been anything left to destroy.

A sound at the door alerted him to someone else's presence. He turned eagerly, hoping for Snake Eyes, but was briefly disappointed when Duke entered the room. The tall man's wintry eyes flickered over the remains of so much gym equipment; he sighed wearily, then blinked as he met the interloper's gaze, far less surprised by the mess than by realizing he hadn't gotten here first.

"What's the matter, Timber?" Duke asked, but not unkindly. "Couldn't you sleep either?"

No. No, there was only one Joe sleeping soundly tonight, and therein lay the problem.

Duke had noticed the blood on the concrete blocks; he took a knee for a closer inspection. Dabbing carefully at the spatter with a fingertip, he saw that it was still tacky; they hadn't missed Snake by too long, but there was no sign of him now save the swath of destruction he'd left in his wake. Turning to the wolf, Duke beckoned idly. "C'mere, buddy."

Timber came there, accepting the clumsily offered pat, even if the big yellow-furred one didn't know his own strength sometimes. Snake Eyes was just like a wolf himself, swift and deadly, his every movement graceful and precise, but Duke put Timber more in mind of sturdy workbeasts, the thick-shouldered dogs that pulled heavy sleds through the snow, or a horse maybe—something with a thicker hide. Still, he was not to be trifled with—Timber had learned early that in this big den his Joes called the Pit, there were many alphas, both male and female. In fact, the females were just as quick to show their teeth and prove their strength as the males.

These pack dynamics, while different than in the wild, never baffled Timber. Snake Eyes was unquestionably his Master. There was no disputing that. When he'd first met his silent friend, he'd been trapped in a blizzard, beset by a silver snake with an icy-cold, segmented body and giant metal fangs. It had lain in wait for him beneath the snow and struck at his forepaw when he'd least expected, sinking its horrible shiny teeth in and hanging on for dear life. He had struggled and tried to bite, but the vicious serpent's hard body tasted evil and it had given no sign that it felt any pain. He'd have starved to death there if Snake Eyes hadn't appeared like a towering god, shining through the snow, a metal canister beneath his arm. His face had been hidden by the same tough armor he wore all over his body, and a single elongated eye had surveyed his surroundings before coming to rest on the injured wolf, who had whined and cringed, waiting for the deathblow.

But the armored god had been benevolent; putting aside his drum, he had defeated the silver serpent, using his awesome strength to pry open its merciless metal jaws. The cold snow had been soothing to the wolf's bloody forepaw, and he'd barely taken time to lick his wound before following boot tracks and the scent of blood and leather to return the favor. Just in the nick of time, too—the armored hero had been struggling against a large bear, and even with the wolf's help it had begun to look like they would both soon lie in graves the snowfall would dig for them. It had been a stroke of luck on both their parts that they'd been rescued by an old human whose fur had grayed; he'd wrapped the wolf's forepaw and tended to the armored human's injuries. The wolf had left the woods with two gifts that night—his Master, whom he would later learn was called "Snake Eyes" by the members of his pack; and a name of his own, Timber, which was what they said when they wanted him to come to them or needed his assistance in battle.

Timber had never regretted following the Master out of that forest and joining the big, strange pack they called "G.I. Joe". The pack had many members, both two- and four-legged; there were even some feathered members, and Timber had learned quickly from the Master that these birds were not to be eaten or harassed. It was easy to obey this command when it came to Freedom—the eagle was even-tempered and hardly a nuisance, but there were certainly days when Timber was tempted to simply devour Polly the parrot, who was as loud and frenetic as Shipwreck, the human whose shoulder the parrot perched on often.

But Timber's new pack members—they called themselves "Joes" for short—welcomed him with friendly voices, gentle paws; often they would talk to him just as they talked to each other, and while he could not speak their language back to them, he was able to communicate with them in other ways, just as the Master did. Snake Eyes never spoke their language—not once, not ever, in Timber's recollection—but communicated with his paws or a tilt of his head—even a turn of his body could indicate his mood or his acceptance or displeasure with a situation. The Joes knew the Master was alpha, and since Timber had his favor, he also had theirs.

For the most part, it was certainly more comfortable in the Pit than in the forest. While it was hard sometimes for Timber to quell his natural urge to hunt, he was permitted to run outdoors in the strange lands surrounding their den whenever he had a mind to; no one ever doubted he would return, and he did not give them reason to. Wherever the Master was was Home, and Timber quickly grew to love the company of his silent friend. Theirs was an easy partnership; it was never a question that he would follow Snake Eyes into battle, nor did he ever doubt that Snake would keep the evil serpents at bay, just as he had that first night in the snow. When it was simply the two of them the Master would often remove his face-armor, his battle-damaged face creasing in a smile at having company he could trust absolutely, at the idea that words were never necessary.

Timber had quickly realized that he didn't have to fight for dominance in the massive den they called the Pit; every alpha had a place that was just theirs, and that was why the pack was so strong. When the hulking green-faced Joe with the arms like tree trunks howled, the pack ran faster, jumped higher, climbed harder. In his territory of mud and walls, pits and fences, artificial trees, he was dominant, and they strove to gain his favor and show him they could navigate his world as strongly as he could. (The other Joes called the green-faced one "Beach Head", but only when he was facing them; Timber had heard some of the Joes, especially the yellow-furred one they called Cover Girl, call him very different names in the room with the big picture box and the table with the clacking balls that were not good to eat).

He'd also learned the pack wasn't limited to one animal—every Joe had something that made them useful to the others. The ones they called Deep Six and Torpedo had gills like the silvery fish Timber remembered seeing in the icy streams that had cut through his forest home, and they could breathe underwater. Like the white-furred hares and ermine whose coats changed to reflect the season, Snow Job could blend in to those freezing surroundings and camouflage himself just like they did. The one called Ace could use the metal wings to fly like birds, and the slim, wiry Joe they called Tunnel Rat was right at home in the dirt that moved aside for him the way it would part for the claws of a mole.

Mating in the Pit was something else again. There were far fewer females than males, which Timber could sympathize with; even he sometimes found himself lonely for the company of a female. Just as in the wild, this sometimes caused infighting amongst the males who were vying for the females' attention. Pretty yellow-furred Cover Girl was often at the center of fights for dominance, but she was an alpha female, very strong and independent; more often than not she would stop the fights herself and not grace _any_ male with her attention. Timber had seen this for himself once in the room where they kept the metal horses—she'd struck that beta male Clutch right in his muzzle.

Scarlett, with eyes as blue as the lakes hidden among the mountains and fur the color of the blood that spilled just when fangs snapped the spine of the rabbit, was also an alpha female. If she gave a sign that she found it annoying when a male began nosing around her, she would make short work of him; her clear voice would make angry sounds and she would use her strong paws to assert her dominance. However, she rarely got the chance to even show her strength; the Master himself would often intercede and run the unlucky male off, only to have Scarlett's ire turn on him. She would growl at him and show her teeth to prove her dominance, and the Master would invariably, if warily, give ground. Only then would she become friendly again and offer her paws, voice softening as she let her defenses drop. She would apologize for snarling by tucking herself close to him, her paws on his strong shoulders, and she was the only one the Master permitted to come so close.

It surprised Timber that the Master, who was stronger than any human or animal the wolf had ever seen, often ended up in dominance fights more than the cocky alpha male they called Flint, who always kept his headfur covered with that odd scrap of fabric. Flint was _very_ dominant when it came to his mate, the Lady Jaye, and his growl was less a threat than a promise that he would assert his claim with teeth and claws if necessary. The other males had learned early not to sniff at her; none were too keen on tangling with Flint, although Timber sometimes risked getting close to the Lady—she had big soft brown eyes, like the deer in the woods; she was generous with her affection and smelled of flowers that didn't grow from the metal ground in the Pit. He knew she kept those flowers in little bottles—he'd seen Flint bring her one once, and the Lady had rewarded her mate with much affection, pressing her nose right to his and cuddling up to him. Timber hadn't been sure why she'd been so delighted to see the little bottle; it was hardly as exciting a gift as a fat juicy rabbit or better yet, a deer. He'd concluded that the liquid must taste even better than a rabbit _or_ a deer, but when the lovely Lady had noticed his curiosity and offered to let him scent it, she'd made it spray into the air and it had tasted _terrible_, not at all like a deer and not even like the flowers he could still smell as she'd made the happy laughing-sound at his confusion. He'd been upset until she'd sneaked him a bit of chopped meat from the feeding-place they called the mess to take the taste out of his mouth. Pretty Lady Jaye could keep her sweet liquid flowers, if she were willing to share her food. He wasn't sure which Joe was the one they called "sloppy", but meat was meat.

This tall yellow-furred one they called Duke was Pack Leader. Every Joe acknowledged him when he walked through their big den, either with their voices or a paw raised in greeting. He'd had a small scar on his face since before Timber had come to the Pit, and while it was hardly the proof of ferocity in combat that the Master hid under his face-armor, Timber knew that scars meant a survivor. The seasons came and went in the Pack Leader's eyes—when he was displeased with something or when enemy serpents came biting at his pack, they would freeze over like a river in winter; when he was in a better mood they thawed to the color of the summer sky. He spoke to Timber in the same tone he spoke to any other pack member, which Timber liked; even if he could not use the loud fire-sticks or the arrowsticks or ride the metal horses, it was nice to have his value in the pack recognized. To have the Pack Leader acknowledge a Joe's importance was to have his favor, and there wasn't a Joe in the Pit who didn't stand up a little straighter when they were graced with it. Had they all been wolves, they'd have come towards him with their tails tucked and their legs bent, flattened their ears back and down to show they were not a threat, but instead they used their voices to recognize his dominance; they always called him the silly name, "Top Kick", and when he spoke, they listened.

The big pack called G.I. Joe was constantly locked in a power struggle against cobras. The Master had explained without words that the cobras were Very Bad, and Timber could understand that; he had no great love for serpents, especially since the metal one had bitten his paw in the snow. If the Pit was Home and the surrounding lands belonged to the pack, then they must not let the cobras invade it; that was an easily accepted fact. In fact, the serpents were so insidious that they had humans in their nests, too, just like Timber's own pack was comprised of more than one animal—Timber especially disliked the metal-faced one they called Destro, who had kicked him once and seemed to enjoy trying to injure Scarlett—and it took constant diligence on the part of the pack to keep the cobras away.

It was undisputed that the Master was the strongest fighter in the pack, and he would often try to teach his packmates how to fight like he did. Timber was familiar with play-fighting; it was a common occurrence in the wild and it was valuable in bringing a pack closer, making them stronger. Snake Eyes never truly harmed his packmates, but the skills he employed to teach them could be deadly in the fight against the evil serpents, and it seemed no matter how many cobras were defeated the way his Master had defeated the metal serpent that first day in the snow, there were more and more cobras behind it, so Timber knew how important the play-fighting was to the pack. The Joes called it "sparring", and some were better at it than others, although none, not even Scarlett, could get the best of the Master.

But how she tried! Timber would see them often in the gym or outside on the parade ground, and even to him the play looked deadly serious when it was between the Master and his best student. Although it was rare, sometimes Scarlett would miss her footing and stumble; sometimes she was slow, and she would dance backwards with a bleeding cut or a bruise. Snake Eyes would always halt to give her time to lick her wounds, but Scarlett was ferocious; she'd simply skip out of his reach and show her teeth, ready to continue. It was only when the play was done that she would allow herself to rest, and the Master, who just minutes before might have been striking at her with all the force he could muster, would be examining any wounds she'd gotten with an almost tender care he reserved only for her.

But this was just one of many reasons Snake Eyes was Master; even Scarlett's skill and ferocity were not enough to best him in combat. Still, she had become so formidable under his tutelage that sometimes _she_ would be the one to do the play-fighting with the other Joes, and they regarded her as a fierce adversary. She was relentless and strong, and what she lacked in size she more than made up for in speed—while most of the males had far more power in their paws, it was the leaner, quicker Joes like Cover Girl and Tunnel Rat who were best able to follow Scarlett's rapid movements. Bigger Joes had trouble and would sometimes stumble clumsily, only to realize too late that she'd leaped in close enough to deal a deathblow. She'd back them to the wall or roll them to the ground and they would offer her their throats; they knew when they were beaten.

She was always willing to let them try again, though—she would often make herself available to "spar" with one or two Joes if they wanted extra time to train with her. It had been amusing the day that the Lady Jaye had managed to land a few blows on Scarlett; she'd connected clumsily at the finish but she'd connected nonetheless; for his part, Flint was unable to even lay a paw on Scarlett and she'd unceremoniously flipped him over, dumping him flat on his back in front of his mate. Scarlett had hid her teeth, but it was clear she'd wanted to show them, and The Lady had made the laughing sound for a very long time after that, while Flint spent much of the day growling low in shame, his ears red beneath his funny head covering. Timber had been sure that had Flint a tail, it'd have been tucked.

It didn't strike Timber as odd that the Pack Leader himself frequently sought Scarlett out for training. While the Master was both strong and quick, Scarlett and Duke seemed two halves of one animal—the Pack Leader outweighed her and was physically stronger and larger than she was, but when it came to speed and technique, she was the better fighter. When they engaged in the play-fighting she would simply dance out of his reach, playing keep-away until he was forced to use his considerable muscle mass against her. Timber was up with the dawn on any given day and would see them running together often, each trying to outpace or outlast the other. Neither ever seemed to win these strange races; they always ended up side by side, Scarlett slowing with fatigue to match Duke's steady pace or Duke pushing himself harder to keep up with her impressive speed. If Duke managed to catch Scarlett and bring her down she'd play like a puppy, rolling onto her back to show her belly, making the laughing sound as she touched her nose to his cheek. Timber often wondered why Scarlett would run so fast when Duke chased her, for it was clear she never minded being caught. Rather, it was only when they were alone that she would greet the Pack Leader like the wolves greeted an alpha, pressing her nose against his neck, just beneath his ear. Duke's wintry eyes would melt into springtime, then flicker closed as he nuzzled her back to acknowledge that her greeting pleased him.

Timber let his head drop, thinking about his beloved red-furred Joe. Whenever Scarlett showed him her teeth it was because she was happy, not aggressive; her hug was strong and she smelled sweet beneath the tang of oil and gunpowder and leather that permeated their big den of a Pit. Like Snake Eyes, she wore the leather paws that didn't taste good when his tongue grazed them, but she'd take them off to scratch beneath his jaw where he could never quite reach, or stroke his ear so gently with the tips of her fingers. He liked her, and she was important to Snake Eyes, which made her important to him.

But he hadn't seen her since they'd gotten back Home, and she hadn't looked right to him since she'd come out of the big fire with that human pup in her arms. She'd made that tickly cough sound all night. He'd wanted to be at her side to help her walk, let her brace herself against his strong shoulder, but she'd shied away from them all, showing her teeth and growling to let them know she was still alpha. She'd snarled weakly when her packmates had tried to scent her and see where she hurt; she hadn't even let the Master close. Snake Eyes did not speak, naturally, but the way he talked by waving his paws was decidedly unhappy. Even the Pack Leader had growled at Scarlett, but she wouldn't let him lick her wounds, either, and now she was gone and Timber had a bad feeling she was in the little cave where the Joes went when they were hurt badly and couldn't hunt or feed or play with the rest of the pack. The Master's actions had confirmed it; his rage had smelled like lightning and he had stalked a tight line in their little den like a wolf in a cage before stalking off to places unknown. Whatever had happened to Scarlett, it was Something Bad, Something Very Bad. Now Timber couldn't find either of them—not Scarlett, and not the Master; even if the latter wasn't bothering to cover his tracks, he wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be.

Duke was looking kindly at the wolf. "Yeah, me, too," he said, offering another pat, of more acceptable pressure this time. "I guess we're all upset." Glancing around at the destruction they were currently in the middle of, he showed his teeth in the way that meant he wasn't really happy. "Snake Eyes had himself a hell of a tantrum in here."

Timber didn't know what "tantrum" was, but if the Pack Leader was suggesting that the Master was angry, then yes. He whined, nosing at a bloody concrete block.

Duke sighed wearily, getting to his feet. "You'd probably have a better time tracking him down than I will, boy, but don't worry about it." He showed his teeth again and made the laughing-sound, but it was short and sharp. "I've got a feeling _he'll_ find _me_."

With one more friendly pat, the Pack Leader turned and walked out of the gym, leaving Timber alone once more. The wolf padded out into the corridor, lifting his muzzle to scent the air; eventually he elected to see if Scarlett were indeed in the injury-cave. He usually avoided this section of the Pit; he didn't like the nasty smells of the pointy metal stickers, the knives and the soft chewy tubers that weren't food, to say nothing of the ointments and liquids that were supposed to help the Joes feel better when they were hurt. Those things didn't taste good at all, and why bother when they could just lick the place till it felt better?

The wolf shuddered as he approached the injury-cave; he hated this evil-smelling place. Beneath the horrible scents of rubber and metal and medicine, there was a worse smell—old blood, sickness, pain and suffering. He hated it, and if Scarlett was a prisoner in there he hated it more and wanted her to come out.

What was worse was that she _was_ in there—the scent of sweetness and leather was faint but noticeable in the corridors and stronger near the doors, and he could smell blood and the foamy stuff she used to clean her red fur.

He had been steadying his nerves to investigate further when the double doors swung open to reveal another Joe he was familiar with-the serious-looking one with the eye shields that everyone just called "Doc". He was in charge of the injury-cave, and when pack members were hurt or sick he helped them, wrapping injured paws, closing bloody cuts, using tiny silver claws to take out the evil metal pieces they sometimes brought home in their skins. Timber liked him; he was gentle and good at making hurts go away; he remembered an instance in which a bad fall through a weak floor had left him with an injured leg. The Master had carried him back Home, and Doc had come out just to see him, putting a funny-smelling armor on his leg to keep him from putting his weight on it. It had been stiff and uncomfortable to wear, but when it had come off, he could run again.

Right now, Doc's ordinarily serious face creased in a gentle smile. "Trying to sneak in, Timber? You're getting more like Snake Eyes every day."

Timber thumped his tail on the floor in amusement. It was a great honor to be considered similar to the Master.

Glancing back and forth, Doc sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt for a minute or two," he acquiesced, pushing open one of the doors and letting Timber pad into the injury-cave. "Don't tell Flint or Lady Jaye, now. I told them no. And don't tell Duke—he thinks he put one over on me earlier, but I know he was here." His face became severe again as they walked further into the injury-cave. "Just for a minute. And _no_ jumping, or you're out by your scruff."

Timber walked slowly beside the tall man, showing him how good he could be, but he was distracted when they stopped in front of a metal bed like the one the Master had in his little den.

_There_ she was, her long red fur spread out around her face. She looked as though she were just sleeping; a bandage peeked out from the sleeve of the funny paper dress she wore and that was tinged red with blood. In her mouth there was a clear chewy-looking tuber, like the roots on the dandelions in the forest, only thicker. But she wasn't making any pain sounds, and better still, the awful tickly cough she'd had all night was gone. She was sleeping, that was all. The wolf remembered how her eyes had flickered on the metal bird they called the Dragonfly; she'd been so tired...no wonder she lay so still now and her eyes were closed so tight.

The wolf's ears pricked at the sound of a bird; glancing around, he waited for a flash of feathers or a scrap of song, but it remained out of sight, repeating the same note over and over again, _cheep, cheep, cheep_. He wanted it to be quiet so Scarlett could rest, but she didn't wake up; with a sidelong glance at Doc, Timber stepped closer to the bed, pushing his nose against her paw, which had a little claw on it. He didn't like the little claw; it reminded him too much of the silver serpent's metal fangs so long ago.

"Uh-uh, none of that," Doc said, putting a hand on the wolf's shoulders and shepherding him back from the bed. "Let's let her sleep."

Timber was distressed; he didn't want to leave Scarlett in this evil-smelling place. Why couldn't she sleep in her own little den, on the other side of the Pit? He whined unhappily.

Like Duke, it appeared that Doc seemed to know exactly what the wolf was thinking. "I know," the medic said, in a tone far gentler than his usual businesslike speech. He pointed to a picture box, one much smaller than the one in the room they called the Lounge; Timber looked and saw mountains on it, tiny and far away, their peaks stabbing high, then low, then high, higher, while that bird sang, _cheep, cheep, cheep_.

"See that?" Doc said. "That says she's still with us."

Timber made an unhappy sound, but Doc had fixed his paw and made it good as new; he would make Scarlett run again, too. This time, when Doc tried to pull him gently away from the bed, he allowed it, but not before pressing his nose much more carefully to her paw, letting his tongue flicker against her skin—she liked it when he did that, the thing the Pack Leader had called "kiss".

The little invisible bird sang them out of the injury-cave, the one-note song carrying the healer's promise, that sleeping or waking, Scarlett was still with them.

* * *

><p>Duke had had a bad night, made worse by the lack of improvement in Scarlett's condition and the fact that he could not locate Snake Eyes. The master sergeant was no coward—as soon as he'd seen the note on his desk, he'd elected to go on the offensive. He'd known the breach of his office to place the note, as well as its ominous phrasing, had been deliberate. Snake Eyes was not entirely guiltless of the wisdom of the serpent. The commando knew very well how intimidating he could be, and this was simply a tactic—the note had been intended to start a war of nerves, and now he was purposely avoiding his target, escalating the tension.<p>

_He's trying to make me sweat this out_, Duke thought grimly. _He'll wait until I'm jumping at shadows, then he'll sack me._

Which was why Duke had figured the best defense was a good offense—he'd scoured the Pit intending to confront Snake Eyes directly, but had had no luck, and after seeing the mess the commando had made out of the gym, he'd called it a night and retired to his quarters. Sleep, when it had come, had been fitful and plagued by dreams in which he tried to navigate a burning building, looking for Scarlett. The smoke had crawled down his throat and stolen his voice, but he heard her loud and clear from within the blaze, calling for him; despite how he pushed through the intense heat and falling debris, he could not find her. He'd woken up in a cold sweat with her cries of his name echoing in his memory and he'd known that sleep was impossible. He'd just sat up after that, staring at the ceiling and watching the day break around him, the room becoming more visible in that first pale stingy light. He'd showered and dressed and headed for his office as soon as it wouldn't have looked out of the ordinary to do so, taking extra pains to shave so that no one could comment on how haggard he looked; now he was in the lounge waiting for the coffee to perk, hoping caffeine would soothe the pounding in his head.

He stared at the coffeepot, comfortable with having his back to the room—he wasn't expecting Snake to show up here; it was a little too public for the confrontation Duke was anticipating. Although he had a pretty good idea of what the commando wanted to "talk" about—the inclusion of the purchase order with his note had made that abundantly clear—he had no idea what Snake knew (or thought he knew), and no idea what to expect.

There was never a shortage of rumors in the Pit. The Joes worked and lived in the same close quarters, and as such, keeping secrets was next to impossible. It was sort of a hobby among the Joes to gossip; anyone who saw something out of the ordinary had a theory. Snake Eyes was easily the most popular topic when it came to speculation, simply because he was the Joe that everyone seemed to have the least information about. Everyone knew Snake, and no one knew him; there were stories about superhuman feats he had supposedly performed, or life-threatening injuries he had managed to shrug off like they were nothing. Duke knew that at least some of these stories were true—Snake Eyes was as strong as hell and incredibly skilled in hand-to-hand combat; Duke knew better than to mess with a man who'd been radioactive and lived to tell the tale. Snake Eyes never confirmed or denied any of these reports; Duke suspected that the commando, who was human after all, sort of enjoyed the mystique that the rumors had given him. Of course, no one ever called him "Scarlett's pet ninja" to his face; if they had, perhaps he'd have been less fond of being speculated about.

Duke himself didn't subscribe to the "pet ninja" theory. Scarlett and Snake Eyes had a healthy amount of respect for each other, although the commando often invited her wrath by treating her as more delicate than he. Their fights over Scarlett's capability were as brief and stormy as they were commonplace. When they occurred, Ace was fond of taking bets on who would apologize first; Duke had repeatedly refused a piece of that action, not simply out of respect for his teammates but because he found it impossible to choose a side. He'd worked closely with Scarlett long enough to know that she was as good a soldier as any man he'd ever served with, but getting to know her only made him agree more strongly with Snake Eyes' instinctive desire to protect her and want her safe. The Joes wanted Scarlett the soldier at their sides with her crossbow at the ready because she was a formidable ally, but they wanted Scarlett their friend safe and sound in their Pit because they were fond of her, and the two conflicting frames of mind were impossible to reconcile, would always be impossible to reconcile.

No, Snake Eyes was not Scarlett's pet, but even after all this time, no one could be sure exactly what he was other than quietly and sincerely devoted to her. Like a castling move in chess, the commando would always move to protect Scarlett, whether she felt she needed it or not. Duke remembered seeing his own panic mirrored in Snake Eyes' stance when Scarlett had collapsed in the corridor, remembered the air of desperate frustration that had colored Snake's every move when he'd clutched at his mask and realized he could not efficiently administer CPR to her. He'd practically broken the sound barrier fetching Doc, knowing it was the only way he could help her.

It made Duke wonder what the commando really thought of the woman he seemed to hold in such high regard. At times, the way she so obviously knew how to handle him did make her look like his mistress. The way his masked head tilted almost arrogantly with pride when she displayed her formidable skill in martial arts made her look like his creation.

But something else had prompted Snake Eyes to come to Duke asking after Scarlett's condition. The way he'd planted his feet firmly in sick bay and refused to be moved, had uncurled her clutching fingers and arranged her arms gently back on her hospital bed with tender care made her look like his...baby. The way he'd squeezed her hand in the corridor was the comforting touch of family, a man concerned for his heart's blood.

Closing his eyes, Duke saw the words burning black on the note—_WE NEED TO TALK_—and felt an acidic flare of temper at the idea that Snake Eyes thought Scarlett needed protection from _Duke_.

There had never been any quarrel between the master sergeant and the commando, and Duke found himself feeling rather weary at the idea of one; he and Snake had always treated each other as brothers-in-arms and he realized he was disappointed in the idea that that might change. He knew he wasn't good at reading the commando's moods—only Scarlett seemed to have any luck knowing what was going on behind that mask—but Conrad Hauser was a man who expected honesty because he himself was an honest man, and none of his Joes had ever disappointed him when it came to that. He didn't doubt that Snake Eyes would approach when he was ready, and not before; till then, Duke wasn't about to hide from him.

"'Nobody throws me my own guns and says run. Nobody'," he murmured idly as he poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup, just hanging on to it for a second to feel the welcome warmth against his hands.

Someone chuckled behind him, and Duke turned to see Flint. The warrant officer looked amused, but it was a tired, low-watt version of his usual electric grin. His eyes were shadowed; smart money said he'd been sitting up with Lady Jaye for most of the night.

"You look like hell," was Flint's greeting. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"You don't look so good yourself," Duke said, neatly sidestepping the question, which was as good as saying, no, he hadn't. "How's Jaye?"

Flint sighed wearily, frowning and adjusting his cover. "Rough. She...well, you know, she blames herself."

He didn't have to say what she was blaming herself for; Duke shook his head. "If it's anyone's fault, it's mine."

Flint's brow disappeared almost under his hat. "Explain that one to me. You weren't even there."

Duke shook his head again idly. "I should have known something was up with that detail. Should have sent more Joes...and when she got back, I should have made sure she was checked out immediately. Should have known she'd be stubborn about it."

Flint gave his friend a look. "Were we even on the same base yesterday? Because I'm remembering it a lot differently," the warrant officer said pointedly. "_I_ remember hearing that you _ordered_ Scarlett to go immediately to sick bay, and when you realized she wasn't there, came looking for her purely out of concern for her welfare. I also seem to remember that when she stopped breathing, _you_ were the one who performed CPR and kept her heart going long enough for Lifeline and Doc to ride to the rescue. I'd call that doing everything you could."

Duke clutched the cup in his hand hard enough for it to buckle; hot coffee lapped out onto his fingers, but he ignored it. "If it had been _enough_, she wouldn't be lying in sick bay hooked up to machines with a tube in her throat," he snarled.

Flint poured his own cup of coffee, his C.O.'s harsh tone rolling off his back like water off an otter's fur. "It's all right, you know," he said carefully, rummaging around in the little, slightly dented wire basket that was set near the coffeepot. "Hey, is there any real sugar?"

Duke frowned at the warrant officer. "What?"

"Sugar," Flint repeated amiably. "I mean the real stuff. Cover Girl uses Equal, and she's got Jaye using it too. Girl stuff, you know, they're always on some kind of a stupid diet, as if running in terror from Beach isn't enough, but I read somewhere that stuff gives you—ah, here." Tearing open a little paper packet, he poured it into his coffee and cast about for a plastic stirrer; finding none, he improvised with his index finger.

Duke exhaled through his nose and shook his head slightly, ready to let it go, but once his coffee was in hand, Flint revealed that he'd been very aware of what the master sergeant had really wanted to know. "I heard you. I told Jaye the same thing." Spearing Duke with a rather knowing look, Flint added, "It's all right to care."

Duke was the first to look away, pitching his own mostly-full coffee cup into the trashbin, no longer interested in it. "Don't hang out a therapist's shingle, Flint. There isn't a state in the union that would give _you_ a couch and a license to charge by the hour."

The warrant officer was unable to hold back a good, bass laugh at this. "I'll have to remember to tell Lady Jaye that one. Preferably when she's not in striking distance." Stirring his coffee with a tilt of his wrist, he added, "By the way, Hawk's onsite and he wants to see you in his office."

Duke's arctic eyes narrowed. "And you waited to tell me this why, exactly?"

"You looked like you needed a minute," said Flint matter-of-factly. "In fact, you still do."

"Well, I haven't got a minute," Duke sighed. "Maybe if I'm lucky, there'll be a Rattler attack before I get down there."

"I hope so. It'd give you and Lady Jaye someone to beat up besides yourselves," Flint said, but not unkindly. "Better go see what Hawk wants."

"I can't wait to find out," Duke sighed wearily. "Thanks for the summons, Flint—I think."

"'Shows you'," Flint quipped, clapping a comforting hand on his C.O.'s shoulder. "'Sooner or later you must answer for every good deed'."

* * *

><p>While G.I. Joe had a rather impressive win-loss record against Cobra, there were plenty of factors that helped tip the scales in favor of the Joes, and it wasn't just their superior training or specialized skills. Sometimes it was something as simple as the fact that the leader of the Cobra organization was a bit of an armchair commander, farming important details out to less-than-competent subordinates, then acting surprised when the plans invariably fell through, although it was always a treat to see the masked madman throwing one of his trademark tantrums when things didn't go to plan. There was no question Cobra Commander hadn't gotten his title by accident; he could be a formidable opponent—but only when he bothered to do his own dirty work.<p>

By contrast, General Clayton "Hawk" Abernathy had never been afraid to get his hands dirty. The general had earned his jock strap; he'd been in the trenches with his Joes and had handpicked most of the original team. He'd put plenty of his own blood and sweat into making them America's elite, and he had never failed to see a return on that investment. These days, he was relegated to doing a lot of the administrative work, and while he often wished he could be back on the battlefield with his Joes, he wasn't worried about them while they were out there. He knew what they were capable of—and he knew they were in good hands with Conrad Hauser at the helm. The master sergeant had been an ideal choice when Abernathy had let the cup pass from him; Hauser was a natural-born leader, as American as apple pie and had an average-Joe, aw-shucks modesty about him that was totally at odds with his frightfully impressive greensheet. When he'd learned that Hauser had turned down a commission, preferring to be on the front lines with his soldiers, the general had known he'd found the right man for the job.

And Duke hadn't let him down. Hawk knew firsthand how heavy the crown of leadership was, and he kept a watchful eye on his second-in-command to ensure that all was running smoothly. This morning, Duke's face was a cup of shadows. A single blond forelock fell into his wintry eyes, but he made no move to brush it aside.

"Have a seat, Duke," Hawk said cordially, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Coffee?"

Duke's blue eyes flickered to the side, as though he were listening to something in his head rather than to the question being asked. "No, thank you, sir...already had some. Sort of."

Rather than question the odd remark, Hawk decided to let it pass. "Where are we on the Vulcan mind-meld?"

A smile threatened Duke's face at the joke, but he checked it as he answered. "Domestic Intelligence is setting up a session with a specialist and they're compiling a battery of tests they'd like to run. We've already got a volunteer, but we can't move forward without the proper release forms and the background check, so we're waiting on those."

"Is the volunteer a minor?" Hawk asked.

"Yes, sir." Duke frowned. "Sir, I understand D.I.'s concern about Cobra recruiting soldiers who are alleged to have extrasensory powers, but surely there's another way to counter this."

Hawk bit down on a smile. "Settle down, Duke. We're not sending minors into combat."

The master sergeant relaxed, but only fractionally, and his eyes were dark blue with trepidation. "Wish Cobra felt the same way about it."

"The fact of the matter is that they don't," Hawk reminded his second-in-command briskly, "and if we can learn anything from a volunteer who truly has an acute perception, extrasensory or otherwise, that data could prove invaluable to our troops without the volunteer ever seeing battle. Don't you think we owe it to our soldiers to provide them the best possible advantage against whatever Cobra's got to throw at them?"

Duke blanched; his concern for his men was always on the frontline of his mind, and if there was ever a way to get to him, a statement like this was it. "Of course I do, General. But we can do that with intelligence, weaponry, training..." He fell silent abruptly, but it was clear there was more he wanted to say.

"Go ahead, speak your mind," Hawk entreated conversationally.

Duke considered the offer, then frowned. "...All due respect, sir, but you know how I feel about wasting time and manpower on this...hocus pocus."

"Hocus pocus?" Hawk smiled finally. "There are more things in heaven and earth than can be explained by mere men, Duke. D.I. seems to take it as an accepted fact that there are people out there who use more than the ten percent of their brains the rest of us are limited to—they're saying these people can move things with their minds, communicate without speaking, even predict the future. You don't think that, if such a thing existed, it would be useful to our team?"

Duke stared back with a blizzard in his eyes. "No one can predict the future, sir, and if you ask me we've got enough problems dealing with the present."

Leaning back slightly in his chair, the general laced his fingers together. "Since you bring it up, I haven't seen a report on the street crime detail yet."

Only a lightning-fast blink revealed Duke's belated realization that he'd made a tactical error with this off-the-cuff remark, but he managed to regain his composure as he answered, "It's in the works, sir. After debrief, there were...complications."

Again, even the minimal pause was enough to tip off Hawk. "Complications?" he asked.

It was completely unlike Duke to begin evasive maneuvers when a straight answer would solve the problem, so when he responded by saying "It'll all be in my report, sir," it was as good as telling Hawk he should press the issue.

"You can't unring the bell, Duke. Start at the beginning."

Duke sighed through his nose, settling back slightly in his chair. It seemed he was trying to keep his expression neutral as he answered, "All those who were deployed on the street crime detail are present and accounted for, sir. The riots were engineered by Cobra in hopes that the local populace would be terrorized into voting for their candidate, but due to the actions of our unit, Robert Harper has been exposed as a Cobra pawn being manipulated by Extensive Enterprises. He lost his bid for mayor, and the Crimson Twins have retreated."

"I'm not hearing any complications so far."

Duke's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The Dreadnoks and the Crimson Guard used the street gangs as both weapons and hostages; our Joes were limited to defending rather than attacking and we lost radio contact with them early on. I sent reinforcements to locate them and bolster their numbers when the riots escalated on election night. Our unit was eventually able to counter the Dreadnok assault, and Scarlett rescued two civilians from a fire set by Cobra operatives. Upon her return to the Pit, she suffered complications from smoke inhalation and collapsed."

Here Hawk arched a brow. "I see. What's her condition?"

Duke's voice remained steady, his eyes freezing over. "Stable, sir. She's comatose but safely installed in sick bay until her condition improves."

Hawk's brow creased in a frown. "Something isn't making sense to me, Duke. How did she go from zero to coma without receiving treatment first?"

Duke appeared to be staring into a middle distance as he rattled off the facts with cold precision. "The civilians were minors, General. Scarlett declined care in favor of making sure they were properly treated. Once she was back in the Pit, she continued to insist she didn't need medical attention despite orders to report to sick bay. She collapsed en route and had to be transported the rest of the way."

At the first mention of Scarlett's injury, Hawk had taken care to keep his face under control, but at this, he allowed his surprise to show. "Sergeant, that's not a complication, it's an _emergency_. What action was taken?"

Again, Duke appeared to be staring over the general's shoulder as he responded. "CPR was administered and Scarlett was transported to sick bay and put on oxygen. She hasn't regained consciousness."

Hawk's thoughts—still those of a leader—were already moving ahead to the next course of action. "Is there a plan in place if she needs further treatment?"

"Doc mentioned something about possibly transporting her to a hospital to hook her up to a machine we haven't got here, but he's hoping it doesn't come to that. She responded when I—" Duke winced—only slightly, the barest twitch of the skin around his eyes—as he backpedaled, "She responded to CPR."

Hawk's head tilted as he appraised his second-in-command, unsure of why Duke had bothered to correct himself; if he had been present when Scarlett had collapsed and had administered CPR, there was no need to conceal that fact. But the master sergeant's eyes had frozen over; he remained still and patient, betraying nothing else. "Keep me posted," Hawk declared finally with a shake of his head. "That girl rolls snake eyes more than I care to admit. I can't argue with her results, but she's got to be more careful—she got lucky this time."

Duke shook his head, interrupting. "I'll beg your pardon, General, but she's not out of the woods yet. She didn't look all that lucky when I was standing next to her bed listening to machines breathe for her."

Spearing the master sergeant with a rather knowing look, Hawk said, "Luckier than if you'd been standing next to a casket, Duke."

Their gazes dueled for a second in silence; Duke was the first to look away.

The general's expression softened, and his voice was gentler when he spoke again. "I know this is going to sound like cold comfort, Duke, but if we lose no one but Scarlett before all this is over, then God himself is fighting on our side."

Duke was once again staring ferociously at the air over the general's shoulder. "I know that, sir."

The tone was still careful, but firm, as the general continued. "The hardest thing to do in these situations is to do nothing, but you can't protect them all. Scarlett is a good soldier, and she knows what it means to be a part of this team. That includes the risks as well as the rewards. If she goes down fighting for us, we'll make sure it wasn't in vain. We'll carry on," he said, and again, it was not a question.

"Yes, sir." Duke finally lowered his empty gaze, the ice in his eyes melting to two blue pools of poorly concealed exhaustion.

"Very good. Get that report on my desk as soon as you can. That'll be all," Hawk said, and the master sergeant nodded, both men rising from their chairs. "Oh, and Duke?"

Duke turned at the door, one blond brow arched quizzically.

"Scarlett _is_ lucky that you followed up on her in time to keep her stable till she could be transported to sick bay," Hawk pointed out, revealing that he hadn't entirely missed that earlier slip of the tongue. "And every Joe on that detail was lucky that you kept close enough tabs on them to send reinforcements. Good work."

Duke nodded. "Thank you, sir." With that, he departed, closing the office door behind him.

Hawk sat back down in his chair, letting his breath ebb away in a sigh. "Thank _you_, son," he said idly, even though the master sergeant had already left the room.

The general was unable to stop a proud look from crossing his face as he thought of his team. Truly, they were America's Elite; a team of fire-hardened, battle-scarred soldiers who had given up their names, their homes and their families for new names, a new home—and a new family, one that fought and bled for each other as well as for their country. An injury to one was an injury to all, and Hawk had meant what he'd said to Duke—just as it was inevitable that they would lose team members along this road, it was an equal surety that those fallen comrades would be avenged.

Duke had done a very good job of remaining businesslike during their meeting, but it hadn't escaped Hawk's notice that the master sergeant was upset. The general suspected it had something to do with the fact that as team leader, it was in Duke's nature to feel personally responsible for any complication that occurred during a mission—Hawk himself grappled with this issue often—but it was even more likely that he was upset simply because it was Scarlett who had been injured.

Everyone liked Scarlett. The irrepressible redhead was extremely popular amongst her fellow Joes. It was human nature that people were initially drawn to her beauty, but it was truly the fire of personality that enchanted everyone who knew her, that caused Clutch to teasingly call marriage proposals from atop tank treads whenever she passed through the motor pool and had charmed even stoic, battle-scarred Snake Eyes into a silent, serious devotion to her. When it came to her comrades-in-arms, she was as dependable as sunlight, loyal to a fault, but it was something far more simple that drew people to her; Scarlett had a friendly nature and a sweet disposition that was completely at odds with her deadly aim with her crossbow and her lethal proficiency in martial arts. She offered them her hands, endured their flirting, kept their secrets, and every Joe in the Pit knew they had a friend in her.

Duke hadn't escaped Scarlett's charms, either, it seemed—the report he had given had been a master sergeant's explanation of a complication, to be sure, but his choppy delivery and careful wording had been the speech of a man in pain. Hawk would have the full report on his desk soon enough, but he already knew it wouldn't accurately describe what his Joes had gone through when they'd waited for Scarlett to emerge from what must have been a flaming deathtrap, or what they'd gone through when they'd been trying desperately to resuscitate her en route to sick bay.

It hadn't surprised the general at all to hear that Scarlett had disregarded her own safety in favor of someone else's; it wasn't the first time she'd gotten in trouble because of it and surely wouldn't be the last. Hawk reflected again that Duke had been wrong. She _was_ lucky, lucky indeed—not just to be alive but to be unconscious, unaware not only of the pain she was suffering but of the pain she'd left her comrades in. They were the ones dealing with it, not her.

Everyone liked Scarlett—some more than they really should have, Hawk was beginning to realize—and he'd meant what he'd told Duke during their meeting. If Scarlett was destined to fall in battle, they'd carry on, for the country and for her.

With a rueful smile—the one that only stretched beneath a heavy crown—it occurred to Hawk that he should check with those psychics down in D.I. Maybe they could tell him _how_ the team would manage without Scarlett; he sure as hell didn't know.

* * *

><p>The ribbon of gauze dropped to the floor for the fourth time, and for the fourth time, Snake Eyes bent to retrieve it from his sitting position on his bunk. The idea of asking for help had already occurred to him and been rejected; he only wanted one person to wrap his wounds, and she wasn't able to.<p>

Hell, she'd _caused_ the biggest one.

Blinking, Snake refocused on securing the gauze. It was hard enough to wrap one's own hands when they were in decent shape. His were now swollen to paws, so puffy he couldn't close them, and his knuckles looked like hamburger. They'd been shaking badly since he'd retreated to the shower, when there had been nothing left in the gym to destroy. Tactically, it hadn't been a smart idea to damage his hands so badly during downtime; there could be a Cobra attack any time and he knew he really should have kept himself in fighting shape, but he couldn't bring himself to care at this point.

When the gauze dropped from his shaking fingers for the fifth time, he sighed and let his elbows rest on his thighs, staring at it. He hadn't bothered to redress after showering, and his hair was still damp, dripping onto the loose pants he'd pulled on before attempting first aid.

A scratch at the door made him look up, and despite himself, a smile threatened his face. Rising, he opened it to admit Timber, who quickly dropped to his belly, ears back and down. Carefully, Snake attempted a comforting pat with one swollen hand; it didn't go so well, and Timber quickly examined further, thrusting his nose against the scent of old blood. He let his tongue flicker against the wound, but drew back quickly, clearly tasting the analgesic ointment Snake had applied after cleaning the lacerations. The wolf blinked questioningly up at him, as if to ask what he could do, what Snake Eyes wanted.

What _did_ he want?

A thousand impossible wishes swirled in the commando's mind and drained away, leaving only the thing he truly wanted most right this very instant.

With a sigh, the commando tapped his index finger gently to the top of his wrist. {_Time._}

All the confusing, uncomfortable feelings that flooded him now could no longer be ignored or held back. He'd pushed them aside in the past, promising over and over again that he'd deal with them when the time came, and he was at their mercy now because he was _out_ of time. He'd thought he'd have longer to figure out his feelings for Scarlett, learn what she really was. He knew the obvious—she was beautiful, intelligent, sweet, strong—but he'd taken longer to decide if she was Comrade-In-Arms, if she was Student, if she was Sister, if she was Lover. And he _still_ wasn't sure about his own feelings, although he was now certain of hers.

What she was was Someone Else's.

Snake Eyes remembered the sick bay corridor, the way Scarlett reached out blindly before collapsing, recalled the way Duke had held her hands tight to keep her from hurting herself, to assure her of his presence. If Scarlett dreamt in the dark coma she slept in, she was surely remembering that comforting touch. When she'd tried desperately to sign in those last harrowing moments, it hadn't been Snake that she'd wanted. What could very well have been her last thoughts, her last words, had been for someone else.

As if sensing his master's distress, Timber pushed his nose against Snake Eyes' wounded hand again. With another, firmer pat, Snake told his friend it was all right, and the wolf settled contentedly at his master's feet while the commando tried once more to wrap his hands. This time, his lack of success was less because he couldn't get a grip on the gauze, and more because he couldn't get a grip on his thoughts.

Right now, his thoughts were years and an ocean away. It had been morning, and cold, and he'd been training with the Hard Master. It had been early enough in his training that he hadn't felt comfortable striking hard at his teacher; the bonds of respect and discipline had him pulling punches, restraining kicks. His Master had seen his hesitation, and as Snake Eyes had struck out with another idle front kick, had put a very abrupt end to it. Frowning, the Master simply reached out like chain lightning, grabbed Snake's ankle, and _pulled_. That was all, but it was enough—already off-balance from the unsteady kick, Snake Eyes had been yanked off his feet completely and landed flat on his back, all signals up his spine to his brain scrambling, his breath abandoning him. There was no way to break a fall like that, and he'd lain there helplessly for a span of minutes, his wind knocked out, unable to remember how to breathe.

He felt like that now.

_How_ had he not seen this coming?

His heart stubbornly insisted that Scarlett never acted out of malice, no matter what the circumstances, but his mind was used to being betrayed, and there was a nagging feeling that for all he knew, she had been laughing about this for who knew _how_ long, and that also bothered him. He could admit to himself that he was used to having the upper hand in a situation, and the idea that Scarlett and Duke had gotten one over on him—on _everyone_—prompted an uncomfortable range of reactive feelings. Anger with himself for not figuring it out sooner, especially since it now seemed so simple, almost laughable in fact. Confusion as to how they'd even managed it in such close quarters, with so many people constantly looking to them. Confusion as to how it had even happened.

Again, heart and mind dueled over possible answers to that question. Mind insisted that it was nothing more than facts in evidence—Scarlett was beautiful, smart, sweet, and Duke was the all-American boy, hail fellow, well met. But heart knew these soldiers well, knew they were far more than pictures in a high-school yearbook and that there had to be something deeper at work here. Deep enough that they'd bothered to conceal it, anyway, and that gave rise to more conflicting feelings—he was angry at Scarlett for not feeling like she could trust him with this secret when she knew so many of his, but he could also admit to himself that he'd definitely felt better _not_ knowing and did not know how he would have reacted to this particular confession.

His breath had been knocked out, again, and it was taking a while to get it back. He felt foolish, felt betrayed. He was angry at Scarlett for the lie of omission, for not trusting him.

And he was angry at Duke. Despite everything, he was not angry because the master sergeant was attracted to Scarlett—it was Snake Eyes' opinion that any man with a pulse would be attracted to Scarlett—but he was angry all the same, and he intended to let his C.O. know exactly why, as soon as he felt he could do so without breaking the man's jaw.

But first, he had to wrap his wounds.

His hand spasmed, slackened, and the gauze dropped from it once more. Timber's head lowered before Snake could move to retrieve it, and as the commando watched, the wolf picked up the ribbon of fabric carefully in his teeth, extending his neck to hold it out to his master despite how bad it must have tasted to him.

Unable to stop a smile, the commando rewarded his friend with a good hard scratch beneath the chin and a stroke of one pointed ear despite the pain it caused his injured hand, and this time, although it took far longer than it would have if he'd been in better shape, he managed to secure the gauze. After equal care was given a second time, both hands were clean and wrapped. The left he curled into a fist, watching the tendons cord in his arm and his knuckles whiten with the strain, ready to strike.

But he kept the right open, waiting, just as ready to shake.

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye hadn't escaped a night of insomnia either. Like Snake Eyes, she had elected to combat it by tiring herself out, and unbeknownst to her, Beach Head was glad he'd donned his balaclava before putting the Joes on P.T. through their paces—he didn't want Jaye to see his eyebrow raise in appreciation of her tenacity.<p>

It wasn't to say she'd had an easy time of it that morning, but she powered through the course with a better time than usual by sheer force of will. Beach Head couldn't have known that the way the rope burned as it slid through her grip on the eight-foot wall reminded her of how she'd struggled to keep up with Scarlett on the jumplines during the mission, and how her upper body strength was still not as reliable as she wanted it. All the drill sergeant had seen was that Lady Jaye had had a clumsy moment at the wall, then had flown into an inexplicable rage and redoubled her efforts, clawing her way up like a furious, snarling animal.

"Atta way, Jaye," he called, and because it was his way to bury his compliments, added, "Maybe now you'll finish second-to-last."

Lady Jaye acknowledged neither compliment nor insult with a look; she simply dropped to the ground and bounded past Tunnel Rat, who would say later that she'd growled something unfit to repeat before continuing forward to vent her spleen on a set of recently-installed pop-up targets. Again she prompted an eyebrow raise when she leapt for the concealed rifle she was to use on them and turned it into a graceful shoulder roll before taking out four out of the five targets right away. She missed the fifth, and the exercise should have ended there, but rather than relinquishing her empty weapon, she simply charged the final target, smashing it with the butt of the rifle. The target's support post buckled, then splintered, giving out with a loud _crunch_ and sending the target itself swinging at a cockeyed angle.

Duke, who showed up just after this last display of unprovoked violence, waved down Beach Head before he could give voice to the obvious coronary he intended to have at the wanton destruction of his equipment. Meanwhile, Lady Jaye slowed to a panting stop nearby, secretly grateful for the buffer between her and the irate drill sergeant.

"Sorry to interrupt, Beach, but I need Lady Jaye," the master sergeant said. "Duty roster has her here with you right now."

Beach Head waved, or rather, swatted in Lady Jaye's general direction. "She's here all right, like Godzilla through goddamned Tokyo. I was supposed to have her and Scarlett on this morning, but I'm figgerin' Miss Scarlett's still catchin' up on her beauty sleep."

It had been an off-the-cuff remark that had held no subtext whatsoever, but it was the wrong time to crack such a joke. Duke had been turning away when the drill sergeant had indicated which direction Lady Jaye was in, but at the sound of this remark, the master sergeant's eyes caught fire and he whirled back to step into Beach Head with one heavy boot.

"You think that's _funny_, Sergeant Major?"

Lady Jaye's eyes went wide. Duke prided himself on the good rapport he kept with his soldiers and was not strict if the situation didn't warrant it-he only addressed his Joes by rank if they were about to get their heads bitten off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tunnel Rat murmured, watching the exchange with a nervous expression. "What's with Duke turning into the Incredible Hulk? Did I miss something here?"

"Shhh," Jaye hissed, her own wide eyes on the two men.

Beach Head was not afraid of Duke, but it was clear he, like Tunnel Rat, was puzzled by the master sergeant's sudden, instantaneous rage. "Something botherin' you, Duke?"

"Yeah—_you_," Duke hissed, stabbing a forefinger at Beach Head like a pistol. "I asked you if you think it's funny that Agent Scarlett is too _injured_ to run your course this morning."

"Ain't nothin' funny about an injured Joe, Top," Beach Head said calmly, his expression neutral. They could have been discussing the weather.

"Then I suggest you secure that shit, Sergeant Major," Duke growled, eyes the blue at the bottom of a gas flame.

That would have been the end of it if Beach Head hadn't insisted on having the last word. "You might wanna secure yourself, Top," he said amiably, and when Duke turned those blazing eyes back to him, he shrugged and turned dismissively away, adding, "Sounds like somethin's stickin' in yer craw."

Flashpoint—Duke reached out with the speed of a striking rattler and seized the drill sergeant's fatigues at the shoulder, spinning the other man almost violently back to face him. Lady Jaye started forward blindly, knowing that if she got between them she'd likely end up taking the punch meant for Beach Head, but Duke had clearly lost his mind and someone had to do something.

Luckily, someone did. Before Lady Jaye had taken three steps, another heavy _crunch_ had interrupted the fight. Tunnel Rat had, in a moment of panic, seized the empty rifle from where Jaye had left it and smashed the butt of the weapon into one of the targets she'd already shot, snapping the support beam entirely and sending the target itself skittering across the muddy ground.

That was enough for Beach Head, who extracted himself neatly from Duke's grip while the master sergeant was too stunned to hang on. Throwing his hands up, the drill sergeant bellowed, "_God damn son of a bitch_. What the _hell_ is the _matter_ with all of you?" Turning to Duke, he jerked a thumb in Lady Jaye's direction. "Jaye's done for the day. Get 'er outta here 'fore she smashes up my whole damned course!"

"Good thinking, T. Rat," Jaye whispered to Tunnel Rat. "Better get out of here."

Tunnel Rat didn't have to be told twice—he pushed the rifle at her and beat a hasty retreat. Jaye smirked insolently as she in turn offered the rifle to Beach Head, who snatched it unceremoniously away from her, muttering, "Gimme that thang." With that, the burly drill sergeant whirled and stalked off, muttering viciously about how he'd just had those _goddamned targets installed_, and if a Cobra soldier came that close Jaye had better hope to hell she had more than a _friggin'_ pistol whip up her sleeve; after that it trailed off into obscenity.

Duke looked like he'd managed to collect himself; his mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. "Don't listen to that windbag. We'll get the targets fixed." His voice was back to its usual friendly, brotherly timbre, and Lady Jaye frowned slightly wondering where the Jekyll and Hyde act was coming from.

"Thanks," she responded with a tired snort. "You can't win for losing with him—if I hadn't done it he'd be screaming at me for standing there with an empty magazine. It's his version of tough love." She wisely chose not to ask him about his loss of temper. Vainly dusting her dirty hands off on her equally dirty fatigue pants, she turned a puzzled look to her C.O. "Aren't you supposed to be screaming at me about how expensive that equipment is?"

Duke's eyes were winter-cool, but his voice was oddly gentle, and the subtext was obvious in his answer. "They're just things, Jaye. Things can be replaced. It's soldiers that can't. You do what you have to do."

Lady Jaye nodded. "How is—"

But he interrupted her rather briskly. "Sorry to pull you off the course, but I need your help with something."

She smiled, running a hand through her cropped hair—or trying to; her fingers quickly caught on a few mud-caked locks. "Happy to, but you might want me to shower first. In case you haven't noticed, I'm filthy, and I'm at the point where I can no longer smell myself, so I have no idea how terrible it is. Why don't you walk me back to quarters and explain on the way?"

"Good deal." Duke never carried files or paperwork around with him; if it couldn't be carried in his own skull, he wasn't about to lug it around and let it slow him down in the event of an attack. "You know I've been in meetings with D.I. about the possibility that Cobra's forming a..." Stroking his chin in thought, the master sergeant groped for the right word. "...psychic strike force."

Lady Jaye indulged in a laugh, feeling better as they exited the course and descended into the cooler air of the indoor corridors. "Psychic strike force. That sounds like something out of a cartoon."

Duke sighed. "Hawk's not laughing. D.I.'s come up with a volunteer, so Hawk wants us to go ahead with it, all deliberate speed. I need you to compile the background check on the volunteer while we wait for the proper release forms."

Lady Jaye's smile faded. Ordinarily, this sort of task would fall to an intelligence operative, but their best agent was currently lying in sick bay with a tube down her throat. "Me?" she asked. "Are you sure you don't want to wait for—"

Again, Duke cut her off smoothly. "I really need this done as soon as possible, Lady Jaye. Hawk's been breathing down my neck about it, and it would make all our lives so much easier if we could put a bullet in this."

Jaye's brow furrowed, the request and the interruptions confusing her equally. "Of course, Duke, but this isn't really my purview. I'll do my best, but I might not be able to get it to you as fast as Sc—"

"Thanks, Jaye. Knew I could count on you," Duke said, his smile as professional and plastic as an action figure's. "Take your shower, and in the meantime I'll send up all the preliminary findings, and let you go from there. I'm aware you don't normally do these sorts of checks, but we're a bit shorthanded and I really appreciate you pitching in to—"

"All right. _Enough_," she said, halting her walk and going so far as to seize his arm and jerk him to a stop. By daring to put her hands on his shoulders despite the dirt she was smearing onto the crisp sleeves of his fatigue shirt, she made sure she had the full attention of those winter-cool eyes before speaking.

"Of _course_ I will compile any report you need," she told him firmly. "Whether you're shorthanded or not, any time you need me to do something, Duke, all you have to do is ask. You don't have to go into the big song and dance." In a gentler tone, she got to her true point. "And Scarlett will be back to work before you know it. She may even be better in time to give me a hand with this background check, God willing."

That last sentence had been meant to cheer him—cheer them both—but the smile that slowly crept across Duke's lips was more unnerving than it was happy; the fact that his icy gaze remained firm and steady was the only thing that saved the expression from looking suddenly insane.

"Snake Eyes is God," the master sergeant said matter-of-factly, brows arching over those frozen eyes.

Still unsettled by the look on his face, Jaye let him go, chuckling in mild disbelief. "Come again?"

Duke's voice was calm as he explained, the shrug of his shoulders idle, as though he'd just figured the whole thing out. "Think about it. He's this great legendary thing. He's impossibly strong. He smites the wicked." That harrowing smile threatened his face again. "And he never answers you."

"Oh..." Lady Jaye's heart gave a painful thump in her chest, finally reading the subtext in the master sergeant's recent penchant for odd phrases and troubled expressions, his obsession with keeping busy and his uncontrollable losses of temper. Without thinking, she reached for her friend once more, the fabric of his shirt slipping roughly through her fingers as she just missed catching his arm. "Oh, Conrad—"

At the sound of his name, Duke's expression changed again, this time to the startled awareness of a waking sleeper. He seemed to have realized he'd slipped; his manner was once again that of the brusque, no-nonsense first shirt as he turned to walk away from her. "I'll see you later, Lady Jaye. Keep me posted on that background check, O.K.? Thanks."

"Conrad. _Wait_," she said, attempting to follow as his longer stride took him out of her reach, but he ignored her, as though it weren't his name.

And it wasn't, she realized, not when that gate slammed down behind his eyes. Duke was in charge.

* * *

><p>Duke had fully intended to go to his office and fetch the documents that Lady Jaye would need to compile the background check for Domestic Intelligence, but the silent Joe blocking his door stopped him in his tracks.<p>

He smirked, arching a blond brow at the intruder. "I get it. I'm supposed to think he's in there, right?"

Timber did not respond, simply flicked a pointed ear and stared at the master sergeant as though he could wait all day.

"Nice try," Duke declared flatly. "I am not that dumb, and neither is Snake Eyes. Stand aside, but don't go anywhere. I've got a message for you to deliver."

Timber padded aside amiably, while a considerably less composed Duke had to physically restrain himself from slamming his office door. Once safely inside, he sat at his desk and allowed himself a moment to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. From the comfortable dark, he tried to calm himself.

_He knows I'd have figured that out. He never expected me to really think he was in here. It's another game. He'll be somewhere I'm __**not **__expecting, somewhere I wouldn't have my guard up…_

The answer was suddenly so obvious, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it before. Gathering the necessary paperwork for Lady Jaye, Duke stuffed it impatiently into a file folder and exited the office. Timber was still sitting patiently outside.

Duke offered the wolf the folder. "To Lady Jaye," he said, then added, "Please."

Timber craned his neck and carefully took the folder in his teeth, but didn't depart; in an almost human gesture, he blinked up at Duke, who nodded.

"I've got a message for Snake Eyes, too," the master sergeant assured the wolf, meeting his somber golden gaze with an equally serious blue one, "but I'd like to deliver that one myself."

* * *

><p>"I think you might be right," Lady Jaye said by way of greeting Flint, only bothering to knock on his doorjamb idly as she strode in.<p>

The warrant officer didn't seem to mind the intrusion; he looked up with his usual million-dollar smile. "So glad you noticed," he said smoothly. "What exactly did you realize I was right about?" Leaning back in his desk chair, he put his hands behind his head and tried to guess. "Your stunning beauty? My sexual prowess?"

"Duke," Lady Jaye said flatly, and Flint's face fell as though someone had pricked his smile with a pin.

"I can't even _think _of a more disappointing answer to that question," he joked.

"I'm serious," Jaye insisted soberly. "He hasn't been himself since we got back from the street crime detail. He won't even talk about Scarlett. He's acting like he can't bear to hear her name, and I thought he was going to break Beach Head's nose this morning."

"For Beach, that might be an improvement," Flint chuckled.

Lady Jaye dropped into a vacant chair with a sigh. "Can you be serious for _half_ a minute, please? I'm worried."

Flint leaned forward in his own chair, his hands reaching across the desk to seek hers. "Worried about what?" Rubbing his thumb soothingly over her hand, he smiled encouragingly. "Everything is going to be fine, Lady Jaye. Doc says Scarlett is going to snap out of it, and Duke can handle one rabid drill sergeant."

Lady Jaye shook her head. "You didn't hear him," she continued doggedly. "You didn't see his eyes when he said no one answered his prayers."

"_What_?" Flint said, concern finally coloring his voice. He held her hands more tightly. "Jaye, you're not making any sense. Are you sure _you're _all—"

A scratching from outside interrupted them, and both Joes turned to look quizzically at the closed door. Before Flint could stop her, Jaye had taken her hands from his and risen from her chair. Flint didn't bother to follow, simply opened the drawer that housed his backup piece, but there was no need to draw a weapon.

Timber sat outside the door with a file folder in his teeth. Despite herself, Lady Jaye couldn't help but smile. "Special delivery, eh Timber? Is that for me?" Taking the folder carefully from the wolf, she opened it and flipped briefly through its contents. "Yup, it's for me." Kneeling to ruffle the wolf's headfur, she said, "Thanks, buddy."

Timber cocked his head smartly in something that was almost a nod before loping off.

"What is it?" Flint asked as Lady Jaye returned to her chair.

"It's some information about a volunteer for D.I.'s ESP program," she informed him. "Duke wants me to do the background check since…since Scarlett's laid up." Her eyes darkened sadly. Flint reached for her again, and she idly dropped the folder on his desk, flipping it shut as she slipped her hand into his. She gave it a puzzled look for a minute, then glanced at the door. "I wonder why he didn't bring it himself?"

* * *

><p>Snake Eyes had known that Duke was too smart to fall for the old wolf-in-front-of-the-office trick, but he was rather amused when the master sergeant stormed his own quarters hours ahead of schedule.<p>

In fact, he kicked the door in, so hard that it slammed into the adjoining wall and bounced, swinging back haphazardly. Snake wasn't dumb enough to have been waiting in the middle of the room, but he gave Duke points for attempting, for the first time in their years of service together, to sneak up on him.

Quickly, the master sergeant swept the room, even going so far to check that the violently swinging door hadn't crushed a ninja hiding behind it (Snake hadn't been dumb enough to do that either). He also dropped to the floor to check beneath the fixtures, and if he hadn't been in a modified push-up position ready to foot-sweep anything that leapt out at him, it would have reminded the hidden commando of a young boy, checking for monsters under the bed. But Duke proved he wasn't screwing around when he remembered to look up. Years of being at the top of the food chain had conditioned mankind to ignore attacks from above, but G.I. Joe knew that enemies—and ninjas—attacked from three hundred and sixty degrees.

Snake Eyes felt a mixture of smugness and pity that the master sergeant was looking right at him for a moment and still couldn't see him—the evidence of his passing was certainly there, but Duke was clearly too wound up to notice it.

Snake's pity turned inward for a moment when he realized that Scarlett would have.

Shaking these thoughts away, the hidden commando waited for Duke to turn away and glance around the room trying to come up with more possible hiding places. It was obviously beginning to occur to him that he might have been mistaken, and Snake felt that he ought to be rewarded for correctly guessing the location of this ambush.

While Duke's back was turned, Snake Eyes quickly and carefully moved the wide ceiling tile he'd pried loose, once again revealing the opening he'd slipped through. It just so happened Duke was standing almost directly beneath him, so when Snake dropped silently to the floor, he ended up right behind the master sergeant. When Duke realized too late that something had changed in the room, he spun and was eye-to-visor with the commando, a close-up that Snake had found intimidating often enough in his own mirror.

"_Joseph_ H. _Colton_ Christ," Duke roared, leaping back out of Snake's reach, one arm ready to block an assault and the other drawn back like a spring-loaded weapon, ready to throw a punch. Snake Eyes' face stilled behind his mask. It was certainly clumsier than a martial artist's stance, but he knew that chamber position, knew who'd helped condition the master sergeant's muscles to reflexively block a surprise attack.

"God _damn_ you," Duke muttered, dropping his arms, his strong shoulders melting just a little as his adrenaline ebbed away. "If you were trying to give me a heart attack, I'm sorry to disappoint you." With a sudden frown and a rapid blink, he corrected himself. "Actually, I take that back. I'm delighted to disappoint you."

Snake Eyes' hands shot up—not to strike, but to sign, emphasizing the most important words with crisp force. He pointed at the master sergeant, then pointed to the side, striking the tip of his index finger with the opposite one as if striking a match. Curling his hand into a fist and extending his little finger, he brought it first to his forehead, then away, before indicating himself and pressing an index finger to his chin. He was sure his frown was implied despite his mask. He indicated Duke, then extended both thumbs and little fingers before bringing his fists down from his shoulders. {_Duke, you can't __**imagine**__ my disappointment in you right now_.}

Just like that, the gauntlet was thrown. Duke stared at the commando with the dead of winter in his eyes, and Snake Eyes knew that his own expression was equally severe behind his mask. The master sergeant was clearly tired of waiting for this confrontation; folding his arms across his chest defiantly, he elected to strike first. "If you're waiting for me to apologize, don't," he said, and while his voice was even, it was firm, the cordial tone barely masking the steel beneath his words. "That will not happen."

Despite the rumors that made him the stuff of legend in the Pit and beyond, Snake Eyes was human; he had been unable to avoid growing accustomed to his mask. His face was far more expressive than most people realized, and it was largely due to the fact that most of the time, he was safe behind the visor and balaclava he was rarely seen without. Now, he was grateful for that shield as his face betrayed him, brows lifting in surprise and eyes widening at the master sergeant's declaration. While he'd observed his opponent, waiting for the right time to make his presence known, the commando had considered all of Duke's possible responses to this confrontation. He had thought that the master sergeant might simply try a frontal assault—it was his nature to be direct, after all, and a display of testosterone poisoning wasn't entirely out of the question—but smart money would have been on Duke playing diplomat, trying to capitalize on the bond between brothers-in-arms.

But he'd done neither, hadn't wheedled, hadn't turned on the machismo. He'd simply stood his ground—which, had their positions been reversed, was what Snake Eyes himself would have done.

Interesting.

Duke's eyes were nothing more than icy slits. "She fell into my arms," he said in that same dangerously even tone, "and I couldn't help her, and her eyes are still closed. You couldn't possibly hurt or scare me worse than that. And if that's all you came to do, Snake Eyes, then I wish you would leave. If you have anything else to..._say_, now's the time to say it."

The choice of words was the perfect segue, and Snake Eyes rediscovered the rage that had driven him to make this confrontation in the first place. He pointed at the master sergeant with a ferocious stab of his index finger and crossed both index and middle fingers in front of his mouth, then pointed his index and middle fingers to the side before curling his hand around, knuckles bent and fingertips against his palm while his thumb curled in. Holding one index finger up, he drew a circle around his mouth, then crooked it, pointing down furiously. Extending his left index finger and touching the tip of the right to it, he brought one hand perpendicular to his mouth and moved it briefly forward, then back before concluding with a vicious point at the ceiling.

{_**You're **__the one who needs to speak up._}

Duke worked through the sign, but it was clear that the commando's meaning escaped him despite knowing the words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Snake Eyes pointed at Duke again, then tapped his forehead in a modified salute. Making a circle with his fingers and holding the index up in the shape of a "d", he flung the hand out in a downward arc, then brought his fingertips from his mouth to the open palm of his hand. Keeping his palm open and facing sideways, he scratched his index finger down it as though striking a match, stabbed his palm with his little finger, then stabbed it twice with both index and middle fingers.

{_You know damn well what it means._}

Pointing at Duke and crossing his index and middle fingers again, he crossed both open hands fiercely before drawing both index fingers down to frame himself.

{Y_ou're a coward._}

Emotion was stopping him from keeping his signs slow and elementary, but Duke was keeping up-his jaw tightened at that last fighting word, and Snake wasn't half done with him yet. Snake Eyes spread his palm and brought it down flat from his forehead before pointing two fingers out then raising one. He crossed his fists sharply, pushed his hand sideways as his fingers spread, sliced his open palm with an index finger, then touched the tips of his index fingers together and brought a flat palm out perpendicular from his face. Making a pocket with one hand, he tucked the fingers of the other into it, then pushed a flat palm straight out at the master sergeant. He curled both hands into fists, bumping their sides together before chopping his arm at the elbow, then pushed sideways with spread fingers again and stabbed the air between them with an index finger. Bringing his thumb fiercely out from beneath his chin, he rotated his index finger sideways in front of his mouth before stabbing his palm with it.

{_Men would fight and kill to be in your boots and you don't say it._}

Spreading his fingers, he moved his hands back and forth so his fingertips touched, then tucked one hand into the pocket of the other hand again before curling his fingers around so the knuckles were bent against his palm. He held both hands to frame his face and moved them away from himself before bringing his thumb out from beneath his chin again, repeating the emphasized rotation of a finger in front of his mouth and the stab to his palm.

{_Even the corridor, you didn't say it._}

Pointing at himself, he held one flat palm perpendicular to his face and swept it forward before forcefully extending a clawed hand away from his mouth. He struck the tip of one index finger against the tip of the other, pointed at Duke, brought a thumb out from beneath his chin and toggled spread fingers again. Finally, he wiggled his fingers in front of his mouth with enough emphasis that it didn't look nearly as silly as it should have.

{_I would have __**shouted**__ what you didn't even __**whisper**__._}

He felt he was shouting now, so complete was his frustration. Scarlett's affection was a treasure, a _gift_, and the idea that Duke would ask her to disguise it seemed an insult, not just to her but to any man who wished for her favor. There were plenty right here in their own Pit, but it was Duke who _had_ that favor and hid behind codes and protocol, something Snake found monstrous when he himself would have given anything to be able to speak tenderly to Scarlett—to really _say_ it. He wanted to grab the other man and _shake_ him, force him to see his own foolishness. Holding both palms flat and curling his fingers before flipping them over, he tapped both closed fists downward and pointed to Duke once more. He swung loosely clawed hands back and forth, extended his thumb and pinky on one fist and smacked it down onto his open palm, then touched the tip of one index finger to the other before pointing away, in the direction of the sick bay.

{_How could you __**do**__ that to her?_}

"_That's_ what this is about?" Duke exclaimed incredulously. "You're annoyed because I'm not wearing it all on my _sleeve_?"

Holding his index finger and thumb an inch apart, Snake Eyes touched them to his opposite index finger, then crossed his index and middle fingers in front of his mouth and moved them forward slightly before holding his hand flat just beneath his mouth and bringing it away and upwards in a thumbs-up.

{_Code words are better?_}

He continued by pointing at Duke and crossing his fingers in front of his mouth again, then sliding flat, angled palms back and forth at his waist and pointing downward. Extending his thumb and pinky on one fist, he slid it back and forth, then stacked both fists atop each other, brushing the higher one forward and against the lower.

{_You're treating this like a joke._}

He barely gave Duke a minute to catch up before continuing. Repeating the flip of flat palms and the downward tap of fists, he indicated Duke with ever-increasing force. He held up an index finger and spread his other hand into an L-shape, right thumb touching left index finger as he turned both hands forward and down. Pointing again towards the sick bay, he extended the thumbs and pinkies of both fists and shook them down. Repeating the slide of angled palms, he lightly punched his fists together_. _

{_How could you force her to play this game?_}

The master sergeant remained still and silent, eyes like stone. Snake pushed harder, the flip of palms and tap of fists, the stab of the air in front of Duke faster every time he repeated it. Holding a palm facing the floor, he swung a fist beneath it, pointed towards sick bay, tapped his palm with his little finger. He indicated the direction of sick bay again, crooked his finger and brought it down, then sliced the air in front of his face with one flat hand. He repeated the point of two fingers sideways and curled them in again, throwing up two thumbs before raising one towards the ceiling. He turned one palm upward at waist height, tapping it along the air away from himself.

{_How could you hide her behind it? She should be the most important thing._}

The sign for "important" got a reaction—the master sergeant's nostrils flared, as though any minute he might start breathing fire. "She _is,_" he vowed, voice the sound of a glacier scraping against the earth.

Snake Eyes wasn't convinced. Pointing at Duke, he forcefully repeated the swing of a fist beneath a downturned palm and indicated the sick bay again. Touching an index finger to his brow, he turned it to point at Duke. Holding a palm perpendicular to his body, Snake struck his index finger downward against it, then tapped the side of his hand on his palm three times, each time a little lower. Holding one fist up, thumb pointing towards the ceiling, he tapped the knuckles of one fist atop the other. He touched his index finger to his mouth, then his chest.

{_You __**hide**__ her—for what? Rank? A job? Tell me._}

This time it was Duke's expression that betrayed him as he worked through the signs, his eyes widening with bewilderment at the true source of the commando's ire. His confusion was evident, but when he didn't speak up to defend himself further, Snake continued to sign, his own adrenaline beginning to abandon him. He touched his fingertips to his brow and extended his fist downward, thumb and little finger extended. Repeating that sign more fiercely, he brought his thumb out from beneath his chin, touched an index finger to his mouth and stabbed his palm with his little finger. Once more, he touched the finger to first his mouth, then his chest.

{_Why? __**Why**__ didn't you say it? Tell me!_}

For the first time since entering the room, Duke seemed to falter. The wintry eyes closed, and he took a breath, as though steeling himself. When he opened them again, sleet was falling behind them, and his voice was brisk and chilly, as though he were a thousand miles away.

"You got me, Snake," he said. "Figured me out. Believe me, I wish it were different, but I can't lose my stripes over this. You're right; it _is_ a rough thing to ask of someone, but there's a lot at stake." He said it almost dismissively, with a gusty sigh and an idle, aw-shucks shrug. "Now you know. And you know what they say about knowing."

The vertigo of the abrupt surrender had Snake Eyes blinking behind his mask. He had expected Duke to argue, to declare that there was good reason for the secrecy, to insist that some things went without saying. But he hadn't; he'd simply repeated the commando's accusation and conceded the point, just like that.

_Too easy_, Snake Eyes thought. _**Way**__ too easy_. What had happened to the rock steady sergeant who had refused to apologize for his feelings? He'd refused to give Snake Eyes any ground whatsoever at the beginning, and had acted like he was ready to defend his and Scarlett's actions to the crack of doom, but a few lollipop pitches from Snake and the master sergeant had rolled over in record time—and with exactly the wrong answer to the question, a cold, clinical confirmation that his concerns were for himself and his position, rather than for Scarlett.

But Snake Eyes knew better—Duke's actions had already spoken too loudly for any of that to be true. The truth was, Duke had been wearing it all on his sleeve lately. He'd been furious with Scarlett for not getting medical attention after the street crime detail—for not taking care of herself. He'd been so worried that he'd tracked her down to sick bay, and when she'd collapsed he'd been the one who'd held her hands. He'd been the one who'd called her name and begged her to come back to them, an endearment slipping from his lips—like an echo, Snake Eyes heard that heartsick plea in his memory.

_"Goddamn it, **come** on, Shana...come on, honey, open your eyes." _

After decoding the scrawled words on the purchase order, Snake Eyes had spent a lot of time keeping tabs on Duke, waiting for the right time to confront him about it. Snake had heard the brusque way Duke had stalled conversations about Scarlett's condition with the other Joes, the way he couldn't bear to hear her name. When the master sergeant had slipped away late that first night, Snake Eyes had known he was sneaking to sick bay to see her, and just this morning Snake had seen the fury that Duke had nearly vented on Beach Head, heard the lamentation he'd been unable to hold back before he composed himself in front of Lady Jaye.

These were not the actions of a man who did not care.

Why didn't he even _attempt_ to defend himself?

After a few more seconds of contemplation, the commando arrived at the only possible solution. Pointing at Duke and crossing his index and middle fingers in front of his mouth, he pointed one index finger and slashed it past his mouth.

{_You're lying_.}

Only the barest twitch of the muscles around Duke's eyes betrayed his surprise at being figured out, there and gone in a split second before his eyes froze over again. "The hell with you," he growled. "What do you _want_ from me?"

{_The truth_,} Snake Eyes signed with an index finger arced down from his mouth, but with none of the force of his earlier accusations.

Duke set his jaw. "I told you. I said we had to keep it a secret. She agreed," he bit off doggedly, but his voice was softer as he added, "It's unfair and it's tough and it's a goddamn shame, but there's nothing I can do about it."

Rather than reinforce the point, this statement only further convinced Snake Eyes that the master sergeant was lying to him, and the lie seemed even more senseless the second time around. The only part of the sentence that had the ring of truth was the last part.

_It's unfair and it's tough and it's a goddamn shame. _That, Snake Eyes believed he meant, and Duke's voice had betrayed his true feelings the same way it had when he'd conceded that it was a lot to ask—

A possibility that hadn't occurred to Snake Eyes became apparent suddenly.

_It **is** a rough thing to ask of someone._

He hadn't said, "a rough thing for _me_ to ask of someone".

Duke was backed into a corner; he knew that Snake Eyes knew he and Scarlett had been keeping secrets. There was no way the commando was going to back down, no way to protect himself from this interrogation, but he was still trying to throw up shields.

And there was only one person left to protect.

{_Her,_} Snake Eyes realized, motioning towards sick bay. When Duke did not contradict him, he pursued the train of thought. He tapped his palm with his little finger and tossed a palm over his shoulder, then pointed towards sick bay again before touching a pinky to his brow and motioning skyward. Pointing two fingers sideways and curling his fingers against his palm, he brought one fist, thumb extended, to his lips. He pointed forcefully towards sick bay; holding up one palm, he touched his opposite index finger to it, once high, once low. Bringing his thumb out from beneath his chin, he pushed a flat palm towards Duke. {_It was Scarlett's idea. The secret's __**her**__ rule, not yours._}

Once again, the commando felt that sensation of having his feet knocked out from under him, that terrible feeling of not enough air. If this were true, then _Scarlett_ was the one who deserved his accusations. _She_ was the one who'd made the rules of the game, the rules Snake Eyes had found so distasteful and cowardly.

And even now, Duke was trying to take the blame. Because he had known that this would make Snake Eyes look at Scarlett differently, known that the idea of Snake considering her actions cowardly would hurt her if she knew. Taking responsibility would gain Duke nothing except the commando's ire, and he'd been ready to throw himself on the grenade anyway.

_To protect her…from __**me**_, the commando realized tiredly, the same way _he_ had wanted to protect her from Duke.

The realization of their common goal was enough to chase away the remainder of Snake Eyes' anger. Confusion and hurt still crackled through him, but he found himself unable to fault the master sergeant for doing exactly what he himself would have done. Every step of the way, in fact—even when Snake had rattled him, interrogated him, accused him, the master sergeant had stayed true.

"She's _not_ a coward," Duke said in a firm voice. "I don't blame her for not wanting everyone to think she's just trying to flirt her way to the top. It isn't like that—_she _isn't like that, and you know it. And I certainly appreciate her being kind enough to worry about _my_ reputation—she's paranoid that I'm going to lose the respect of the unit if they find out."

Snake Eyes arched a brow behind his mask at this misconception. Scarlett was clearly unaware of public opinion about her; to be known as the man who won her would only get Duke more points with several of the Joes.

"Don't you think I wish it were different?" Duke said tiredly. "Don't you think I _wanted_ to say it in the corridor? I want to say it every day. And yes, it's difficult. Some days…" His voice went hoarse for a moment, but he composed himself. "Some days it's way more difficult than others. But since it's to protect me as much as it's to protect her, it's hard to bitch. I don't have to love it, but I _do_ have to respect it. And if you ask me, Snake, you should, too."

Snake Eyes made a circle with his fingers. Pointing to Duke, he extended the thumbs and pinkies on both fists and shook them downward, pointing sideways and curling his fingers against his palm before punching both fists together lightly. Curling both hands into fists with extended thumbs, he brought them together at chest height, knuckles touching, before motioning in the direction of sick bay. {_So you play the game with her._}

As soon as the sign was completed, however, he shook his head and repeated it up to the light punch of knuckles together. Emphasizing the tap of an index finger to the brow and the turn of it to point at Duke, he motioned towards sick bay again.

{_You play the game __**for**__ her._}

Duke looked exhausted. "Wouldn't you?" he asked finally, summer coming back to his troubled gaze. "Wouldn't you do anything?"

There was only one answer to that, of course. It was the same reason Snake Eyes had felt it necessary to have this confrontation with Duke—you did things you didn't love, for the people you did.

Unbelievably, Duke broke the heavy silence with a sudden laugh.

It was a tired laugh, but the smile on the master sergeant's face was genuine, if rueful. Letting himself relax enough to lean back against the wall, he folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. "You are so lucky."

Although he knew it couldn't be seen, Snake Eyes raised a brow behind his mask. Pointing to himself, he bent his hands loosely and tapped his chest, then touched his ear. {_This I have to hear._}

Duke gestured to the commando, that half-smile on his face. "I can't tell what you're thinking. I don't know if you're laughing at me, I don't know if you're annoyed. I have no goddamn clue what's going on behind your mask." His eyes were hazy. "Lucky bastard."

Despite himself—despite everything—Snake's shoulders shook in a silent chuckle. Along with facial scars and the silence that had become his trademark, the mask was a constant reminder of the accident, a barrier between him and the world, something that he'd initially donned because he hadn't been able to stand the cries of _Good Lord, his face! _from Colombia University techs, enemy soldiers, medical personnel and civilians alike. And here was the master sergeant, handsome and whole, his voice warm with jealousy, telling the scarred, silent ninja commando that this made him _lucky_.

Duke's smile faded and his head tilted, blond forelock falling into his eyes as he stared at the floor.

Snake Eyes considered their conversation, considered every conflicting feeling he'd dealt with over the last seventy-two hours. His obsessive concern for Scarlett was something the Joes had come to expect; no one would have even questioned it, let alone faulted him for it. Duke did not have that luxury. The master sergeant wasn't just playing a game with Scarlett right now—he was playing it with the entire unit. It was clear from Duke's erratic behavior in debrief and sick bay—to say nothing of his earlier altercation with Beach Head, which Snake Eyes had observed over the course of his surveillance—that pretending his concern for Scarlett was only that of a comrade-in-arms and not that of a lover was beginning to wear on him. But he was still doggedly trying to keep up appearances, even now.

Snake Eyes waited till he had the master sergeant's attention again, then pointed at him before touching his shoulders and pulling down towards his chest as though putting on a coat. He touched his fingertips to the bridge of his nose and pulled them over his eyes to his ears, then pointed both index fingers at his C.O. and tapped them together.

{_You wear a mask too._}

It was obvious in his expression that Duke was struggling through the sign, but after a moment or two he chuckled raggedly, nodding, and Snake knew he'd gotten his point across. Sighing, the master sergeant turned away, and Snake Eyes was seized by a sudden, firm belief that their conversation was not yet over.

A startled exclamation escaped Duke's throat as the commando grabbed his shoulder, but there was no stopping Snake in hand-to-hand when the odds were already in his favor. There was little he could do as the ninja forced him back against the wall—not too hard, but enough to get his attention. Stopping him from leaving with one hand, Snake Eyes touched the other to his ear, forcefully, to emphasize his point. {_**Listen**__!_}

He made sure that same forceful emphasis was in the most important signs now as he pointed at Duke and bent his hands to tap his chest fiercely before pointing at the ceiling and bringing his other extended index finger over in an arc to touch his fingertips together. He repeated his signs from earlier, the pulling on of a coat, the coverage of his eyes. He brushed his index finger across his brow, then stabbed the air between them viciously and bent his middle finger over his thumb in a "c", touching his chin with his knuckle and flicking his index finger up.

{_You __**have**__ to wear the mask. Because __**you're**__ the lucky one._}

Although it had taken a very long time, Snake Eyes—and likewise, his comrades—had become very used to his silence. It hadn't been easy, but with the help of signs and the camaraderie of working together in close quarters and life-threatening situations alike, the silent commando had forged a language in which he could "speak" to his friends. But his disability was never more apparent than when Scarlett was out of commission—she was the one who understood him best, and she was his translator. Not all of the Joes were as proficient in his language—not just American Sign but in the personal shortcuts and slang he'd developed over years of dealing with strange situations—as Scarlett was, and without her to translate, communication was sometimes a frustrating nightmare. Especially in a situation like this one, where he desperately needed someone to understand, and Scarlett was not there to help; indeed, had she been, they would not be having this conversation at all.

Eyes fierce behind his mask, he willed the master sergeant to "hear" him.

Duke's head fell back to the wall and his shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly, his sigh impossibly weary. He nodded. "Thanks."

Snake Eyes allowed himself to relax fractionally as well. Not just heard, but understood—better than he could have hoped for. Relinquishing his grip on Duke's shoulder, he lifted his hands to sign one last time. Drawing a circle in the air with his index finger brushing an angled palm, he spread his fingers and toggled his hands so their tips brushed. Drawing a palm downward perpendicular to his face, he held one index finger before his lips and one at chest height, arcing them slightly forward.

{_Sometimes, even God answers._}

The master sergeant blinked in brief surprise that his earlier remark had been overheard, then shook his head and smiled ruefully, acknowledging that there was no getting anything past Snake Eyes. The latter's fists were still in sad shape beneath his gloves from venting his frustrations on the gym equipment, so when the two men finally shook hands, the commando had to grit his teeth and deal with the pain. But he managed.

Nothing else was said; Snake Eyes departed as quietly as he'd come, leaving the master sergeant to his thoughts. As the commando turned towards sick bay, intending to check on Scarlett, he allowed himself a rueful smile of his own.

Pain was always a possibility, and when he could not avoid it, he dealt with it.

He _would_ manage.

* * *

><p>For a few moments, Duke simply sat on the edge of his bunk, elbows braced against his knees, scrubbing his face with his hands. The silence in the room was like balm on a wound.<p>

Intellectually, he understood that it was midday, that there were things to be done in the Pit and appearances to be kept up, but he wasn't ready. Snake Eyes had, in a sense, unmasked him, and he was exhausted, his shields in tatters around him.

Carefully, he stretched out on his bunk, putting his hands behind his head. Slowly, his gaze drifted over to the clock on the small table beside his bunk, the red numbers burning on the digital display. The hours seemed to stretch so long these last few days; he hadn't realized how late it was.

His eyes drifted closed. Late, it was getting so late…

"_It's getting late," Lady Jaye complained, fanning herself with her cards nervously. _

_The darkly dashing Ace snorted. "Obviously Jaye has a bad hand."_

_The corporal glared at the pilot, but her pertly pretty face flushed—possibly from anger, but more likely from guilt. Smart money said Ace was right. _

_Brad "Ace" Armbruster was a gambling man. Every member of G.I. Joe risked the coin of their lives daily against Cobra and the enemies of freedom, but Ace never left it at that. The man had blown more money in the form of damaged equipment than any other Joe, and every time he radioed in that he "just wanted to try something" or was going in for a kill shot, Duke felt a distinct pain in the…budget._

_Not content to simply risk his life and destroy Skystrikers as fast as the unit was supplied with them, Ace took wagers on any occurrence that he could run odds on; he himself was the bank. He also played a poker game almost every week. The players changed at random—any Joe who felt lucky was welcome at Ace's table, but the pilot's poker face was legendary and his winning streaks were deadly. It was simply that no one could afford to play every week. The location was also never the same twice in a row. No one was stupid enough to think that Hawk didn't know about the games, but the general's leniency only extended so far. If he tripped over a game, it'd be curtains, and Ace was far more diligent in concealing their locations than Flint and Lady Jaye were about things that would have landed them in far worse trouble._

_Tonight, the players were camped out in the second-floor think tank—specifically, the communications hub, not because it was the most discreet of locales, but because Ace had drawn watch. Eighty-five percent of the room consisted of sophisticated electronic communications and monitoring equipment, leaving precious little space for anything else, but Ace was more faithful to his weekly card game than some people were to their attendance at Sunday mass. Play was being conducted on a collapsible table that had been smuggled in from the lounge, and Ace himself was dealing from his seat in one of the rotating chairs anchored to the floor in front of the main computer bank. Being the one on watch had its advantages—the mounted chair was far more comfortable than the mass-produced plastic chairs that the other Joes had had to drag in from the briefing room three doors down. _

_Summer was threatening to storm the Pit any day and even this far underground the comm room was hot, due in large part to being overcrowded. Lady Jaye was practically in Flint's lap, not that the warrant officer was complaining. Tunnel Rat had cheekily offered his own lap to Scarlett, who'd smirked and given him a colorful description of what she thought he should do to himself. The irrepressible Rat took the remark in stride, insisting the offer would remain open if she changed her mind. The final player was Duke, who had initially given Ace a hard time about dividing his time between his responsibility on watch and his beloved cards. After pointing out that play could be halted the minute a transmission came over the air, Ace had beatifically asked the master sergeant if he wanted to be dealt in._

_So far, the only bet Duke was certain of was that Ace was right and Lady Jaye was going to go bust any minute. She'd been playing poorly, and Duke thought he knew the reason—a heavy steel-toed boot that was definitely Flint's had been attempting to play footsie with Jaye's combat boot beneath the table since the game had started. Duke himself had managed to pretty much break even, being only forty dollars in the hole, and Flint was up by sixty, while Ace had almost all of Jaye and Tunnel Rat's money. Scarlett hadn't been consistent at all—she'd been on a hot streak earlier in the evening, but a few bad bets had her down now as she looked at the cards in her hand with fervent single-mindedness._

_Fidgeting at her lapel, Lady Jaye popped a button on the shirt of her BDUs, exposing a sliver of skin glistening with perspiration. Flint's brow arched in appreciation and Tunnel Rat's smile widened ever so slightly, but Jaye was too irritated to notice either man's expression. "It's so damned hot in here," she muttered. _

_Ace smirked, not because he was pleased at the sight of exposed skin, but because he knew the real reason Jaye was sweating it out. "Sounds like someone's about to fold."_

_Duke didn't agree; even he was overheated, and Flint had abandoned his cover an hour ago, stuffing it into his back pocket. Tunnel Rat mopped at his face with his bandana, and Scarlett, her gloves long since discarded, blew her sideswept bangs off her brow for what seemed like the fortieth time. Only Ace seemed unbothered by the heat in the small room, smiling a dazzling Cheshire smile from behind his stacks of money. _

"_We'll see when you call, Armbruster," Lady Jaye said flatly, flicking her last few dollars into the pot, "but this is the last hand for me, I mean it."_

"_It's going to be the last hand for you **anyway** if you keep losing," Tunnel Rat chuckled, gesturing to the large pile of money in the center of the table. "You got nothin' left, Jaye. You're gonna have to start bettin' your clothes."_

"_Watch it, Tunnel Rat," Flint warned with a raised brow. "Your mouth's writing checks your body can't cash."_

_Tunnel Rat held up both hands to show he was unarmed, a smile on his face; he'd folded some time ago. "Don't get your panties in a knot, Flint. I'm just playing."_

"_Speaking of playing, I call your bet, Flint," Scarlett said, tossing money into the pot matter-of-factly._

"_And speaking of panties, I'm about to win all yours," Ace crowed, displaying his cards. "Full boat, sevens and kings."_

"_God damn son of a Cobra…" Flint tossed his cards onto the table, revealing that he'd only had two pair. "I should have quit while I was ahead."_

_Duke bit down on a curse of his own. He'd thought he was in good shape with a flush, but playing against Ace was never a sure thing. Lady Jaye had had a pair of aces, and Duke thought that if Ace hadn't been needling her, she'd have had the presence of mind to fold. Sometimes he wondered if Ace was really as good a player as everyone said he was, or if his advantage was gained simply by yanking everyone's chains._

_Ace reached a greedy hand towards the cash on the table, but was stopped by Scarlett, who grasped his wrist firmly. "Not so fast, Ace. You didn't ask to see my two pairs."_

"_Two pairs doesn't beat a full house, Red," Ace laughed._

"_Two pairs of ladies does," Scarlett purred, turning her cards over to display four queens and the two of hearts. _

_Flint gave a low whistle, while Tunnel Rat laughed. "Ouch! She even plays poker like a ninja." The joke earned him a wink from Scarlett, the redhead's long lashes fanning down, then up like a movie special-effect. Tunnel Rat elbowed Duke, who was seated to his left. "She's got more ladies than any of us! Duke, don'tcha wish you had four ladies? You could have two on each arm."_

_Duke smiled and shook his head good-naturedly. "I don't need four ladies, T. Rat. I'd be happy with just one good one." Out of the corner of his eye, the master sergeant saw Scarlett smile._

_Lady Jaye held out a fist to the redhead. "Nice," she proclaimed victoriously, and Scarlett bumped her knuckles against Jaye's. _

"_Damn it," Ace said, pretending to be upset. "You're not even going to give me a chance to win it back, are you? You're going to pretend to yawn and say you're hitting the sack."_

_Scarlett laughed at the pilot's purposely exaggerated frown. "I barely broke even tonight! You're still walking away with most of our money and you know it. Better quit while you're ahead, Armbruster."_

"_I'm always ahead," Ace said grandly, rising from his seat. "And what I also am is done with this damned watch. Thanks as always for making it profitable, you guys," he added with an oily smile._

"_Oh, get the hell out of here," Flint muttered teasingly, tossing his losing cards in Ace's general direction._

_Duke had gathered up the rest of the cards and was shuffling them. "If you don't mind, I'm going to keep the cards, Ace."_

"_Sure thing, Duke, but you're not going to win this back playing solitaire." Cheekily, the pilot taunted the other Joes by shuffling his stack of bills at them and sauntered out of the comm room, the implied **Suckers!** lingering silently in his wake. _

"_Talk about a hit and run," Flint said, rising as well. "I've got to stop playing cards with him. Well, I'm not pretending to yawn—I'm beat. I'm going to bed."_

"_Me, too," Tunnel Rat said, opening his arms to Lady Jaye and Scarlett. "So which of you lovely ladies wants to come with me?"_

_Lady Jaye was already halfway out of her plastic chair, reaching for Flint's hand, but when he heard this, the warrant officer whisked her the rest of the way up and towards him, causing her to stumble. "Hey, watch it, Faireborne!" she teased. "You almost dislocated my shoulder." Waving with her free hand, she said, "Good night, you jerks. Thanks for cleaning me out."_

"_Our pleasure," Scarlett chirped as the couple exited the room, each being nice enough to take their chairs with them, presumably to put them back in the briefing room. "See you two at muster."_

_Unruffled, Tunnel Rat turned to Scarlett. "What about you, Red? Want to tuck me in?"_

_Scarlett laughed, shaking her head. "Flint's going to tuck you six feet under if you keep making passes at Lady Jaye. I kept waiting for him to just go over the table at you." _

_Tunnel Rat waved the possibility away. "Nah, Jaye knows I don't mean anything by it. It's just fun to yank Flint's chain."_

"_Well, don't yank too hard or he'll snap that chain and bite your head off," Duke said, bridging the cards in his hands. "You'd better secure that shit, T. Rat. Flint's not made of stone."_

_Both Tunnel Rat and Scarlett turned curious gazes to their C.O. The redhead smiled. "Sounds like you're on Flint's side."_

_Duke kept his own gaze neutral as he shrugged. "No man likes to see someone else hitting on his girl. If he goes after you, I might be convinced that I didn't see a thing."_

_Scarlett arched a brow at this in surprise, but Tunnel Rat remained calm. "Relax, Top, I'm just having some fun." He sketched a mock salute, then turned and gave Scarlett a nod and a smile before picking up his chair. "Don't you two crazy kids stay up too late, now."_

_Duke frowned at the pale ghost of the wiry Joe's fatigue shirt as he exited the room, chair in hand. "He's so full of shit. He's not going to rein it in till Flint punches him."_

_Shifting to a more comfortable position in her own plastic chair, Scarlett smiled at him. "When my brother and his wife wanted to get a puppy, they were worried it wouldn't be safe for their toddler, so they asked my father for advice. Da said to let the kid and the dog play together until one of them cried, then separate them."_

_Duke couldn't help smiling back. "You're saying my Joes act like toddlers and puppies?"_

"_I'm saying you worry too much." Those Irish eyes rested kindly on him. "Why don't you turn in, Duke? It'll all look better in the morning."_

"_Can't," he sighed. "Why do you think I'm still sitting here? I drew next watch. I'm stuck here for a while."_

"_Oh." Scarlett picked up her chair as though she'd drag it back to the briefing room as the others had. She made it to the door, lingered there for a moment, then turned matter-of-factly and set the chair back down on the floor, circling the table to take the deck of cards out of his hand. "All right, Top Kick. What's your game?"_

_Briefly surprised but definitely pleased at her offer of company, Duke shook his head with a smile. "I'm too smart to keep playing with you, O'Hara. I was lucky to only be down forty dollars tonight."_

_Scarlett laughed. "We don't have to play for money. I'm bored with poker anyway. Do you know how to play Chinese rummy?"_

"_No."_

"_Good, then you won't know if I screw up the rules." She grinned endearingly at him._

_It was impossible to say no to that smile. "Deal me in, Card Ninja."_

_Rummy of any kind was not Duke's best game, and he had the additional distraction of Scarlett's smile across the table from him. After losing several hands to her, he gave up trying to put together flushes and decided to just be grateful she wasn't wearing BDUs like Jaye—If Scarlett had put even an inch of cleavage on display he'd have forgotten the rules to Go Fish. Luckily, she wasn't paying too much attention to the game either—they'd never been at a loss for things to talk about, and a conversation that had begun with her asking him his thoughts on the newest installations to the P.T. course had segued through a raucous contest over who had incurred the most impressive injury while training and ended with an exchange of tales from boot camp._

_"You had to see it," he said. "There was foot powder in both my boots. Up to the top—someone had goddamned leveled it off to make sure they were filled all the way."_

_Scarlett laughed. "You must have looked real cute standing there in your socks."_

_"Like a prize asshole, is how I looked." Duke chuckled, remembering. "He just said, 'I'm going to leave, and when I come back, Private Hauser had better have his boots on', and as soon as he left we were a unit again—it took a hell of a lot of teamwork to figure out where to dump that powder."_

_Scarlett gave him a searching look, her eyes twinkling with something he couldn't quite place. "What?" he asked, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under that questing gaze._

_But a smile broke out on her face like the sun rising; she shook her head affectionately. "Just trying to picture Private Hauser."_

_Sighing through his nose, Duke smiled at the memories of his younger self, brows arching as he relaxed back in his chair. "He was a cocky little shit. The biggest war he'd ever fought was the state football championships. Thought being homecoming king was a big goddamn deal. Had to be taken home in the cruiser once or twice. Could beat any guy in school in a boxing match but cried like a baby when his dog died." He threw his cards on the table idly. "Strictly a small-town boy."_

_Scarlett's smile had faded to a careful, fragile look. "What was the dog's name?"_

_"Remy. It was short for Remington—my father's shotgun. He was a German shepherd, like Order." Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he leaned back. "Loved that dog." Glancing at her patient expression, he motioned to her. "Your turn. Tell me about Baby Shana, come on."_

_Scarlett smirked. "She was a cocky little shit, too." When he chuckled, she continued. "Baby Shana wasn't homecoming queen. She didn't even go to homecoming, and her prom date spiked the punch and got so drunk that she had to walk all the way home in her bare feet because the silly heels she had on hurt too badly to walk in. She didn't even want to go with him, but it wasn't like there'd been a lot of offers—boys don't like girls who can beat them up."_

_"Personally, I think she ended up in the right place," Duke said, and he didn't just mean for that reason._

_"Glad you think so." She laughed again, but her big blue eyes were beginning to blink. _

"_Scarlett," Duke said gently, "you don't have to stay up with me."_

"_Don't be silly, I'm enjoying myself. Come on, you call the next hand. What'll it be?" Her smile was cheerful beneath her tired eyes._

_Unable to stop an affectionate smile from curving his lips, he reached for her, closing one hand over hers and interrupting her shuffle of the cards. "One more hand of poker, and then I'm ordering you to go get some shuteye. Understood?"_

_Scarlett smiled wryly, leaning back in her plastic chair and continuing to shuffle the cards. "You're the boss, Top Kick. Want to make a wager on this last hand?"_

"_With what?" Duke chuckled. "Ace walked off with half my money, and you've got the other half."_

"_If you win, you can have yours back," Scarlett offered with a smile. "How's that sound?"_

"_Pretty generous on your part, but what's in it for you?" Duke asked. "If you win, what do you want?"_

_"Just your heart," she teased with a wink of one big blue eye, long lashes fanning down, then up again. _

_Duke didn't laugh. Leaning back in his own chair, he considered the redhead for a long moment, the soft sparkle of her smile, the shine of her bright hair beneath the harsh lights of the comm room. He'd told Tunnel Rat he'd have been happy with just one good woman, and the best one he'd ever known was sitting right in front of him, too innocent to realize what she was asking him for._

"_I can't give you my heart, Scarlett," he said softly, shaking his head._

_She dimpled at him, dealing cards to him and to herself in turn. "Don't look so serious, Duke. I'm only teasing. You can keep your heart."_

"_No." He shook his head again. "I can't do that, either. I lost it a long time ago." He shrugged idly. "Can't wager something that isn't mine anymore."_

_Scarlett stopped mid-deal, a faint line appearing on her brow as she appraised his somber expression. After a moment, she dealt the last few cards, but slowly, leveling a serious gaze on him. "If I brought up something painful, I am sorry, Duke," she said carefully. "That was never my intent."_

_"Don't apologize. I wouldn't have it any other way," he assured her with an encouraging smile. _

_Scarlett's eyes rested kindly on him. "I would," she said softly. "I don't like seeing you hurt." Looking at her cards, she added, "I'm sorry about your heart."_

_Much later, he would reflect that keeping secrets under fire took far less courage than it had to answer her truthfully. _

_"It's all right, Scarlett," he said evenly, looking up from his own hand. "You can keep it."_

_ Scarlett's cards fell from her hands to the table, landing faceup, the ace of hearts spinning to point towards Duke. Her true-blue eyes went wide for barely a second before she reached slowly across the table for him. His own cards fell forgotten from his grip as her hands curled around his, caressing the valleys between his knuckles before her fingers laced through his._

_"That's hardly a fair exchange," she said softly, the smile he dreamt of sparkling on her face. "Take mine in return." _

_Abruptly, Duke got up from his chair, pulling his hands out of hers,_ _needing to put her out of his reach before he pulled her to him and kissed her breathless in acceptance of the offer he'd been aching for. "Scarlett…I can't."_

_"You can't **what**?" Her voice became a roar in the small room, and the force of her anger drove her to her feet; she looked instantly surprised at her own vehemence. Duke was equally stunned by the outburst, and she took advantage of his momentary paralysis to press her point. "I hope you don't think this is easy for me, Duke—it isn't." She glanced away, her profile tragic as she turned her head. "I know you're the team leader. I know that people have been court-marshaled for a hell of a lot less than..." She gestured vaguely between them, her movements jerky with irritation, "**this**. I know what everyone would say if they knew I even **thought** about you...about **us**. They'd say I earned my stripes in the bedroom, that all I cared about was sleeping my way up. I never want that—I'd kill the first guy who suggested it. I know it could cost us **both** our jobs, and I..." She ran a hand through her bangs, lifting them off her brow. "I still can't...I just..."_

_She looked so uncharacteristically helpless; she didn't even have to finish the sentence. He'd run the same odds, come up with the same risks, and he'd come up with the same insistent longing that refused to be ignored. _

_He **wanted** it—he wanted **her**._

_"I don't blame you," Scarlett said, faltering for the first time since they'd played this dangerous hand. "I understand—I **do**," she promised when she saw his expression darken. _

_But he shook his head slowly, wanting to wrap her in his arms and kiss that wounded look away. "You don't," he said softly, bracing his hands against the computer console behind him to ensure that he wouldn't reach for her. "It's not...I'm not worried about the stripes, or the job." At Scarlett's puzzled frown, he corrected himself, shrugging. "Well—I am. Of course I am, a little, but Scarlett, this sort of thing happens—we'd hardly be the first. Hell, look at Flint and Lady Jaye."_

_"Flint is not the leader of this team," Scarlett said tiredly, but he cut her off. _

_"It has nothing to do with being a leader," he said firmly, locking his gaze on hers, "and everything to do with being a man, and I want you to understand that if we were to...do...this—" He copied her vague gesture in the air between the two of them, "—that **you** would be more important than bars on my arm or a rank in front of my name." He gripped the console harder, wishing he had her in his arms. "Scarlett, I'd rather hear you call me 'Conrad' than hear a whole unit call me 'Top Kick', but I can't let you do this—not to yourself or to me."_

_"You don't 'let' me do anything. I can take care of myself," she insisted hotly. "You don't have to protect me—"_

_"I'm protecting **me**," he interrupted firmly._

_"You just said it wasn't about your stripes," she accused, hurt flashing in her eyes._

_"I'm not protecting my stripes," he insisted. "I'm protecting my..." Unable to look in her eyes as he confessed this fear, he turned away, running a hand through his hair. "...heart."_

_Scarlett was quiet, eyes shining with pain. "I...I don't understand."_

_"You really don't have any idea, do you?" he asked, unable to help smiling at her, despite everything. "I'm not saying this to hurt you, honey-you've got to believe that." The endearment slipped from his lips unbidden but he barely noticed it—it was as right as it was automatic. "But you don't see what I see."_

_"Enlighten me." Her voice was flat, her arms crossed over her chest. Brooding; she was throwing up shields, preparing for the worst. "What do you see, Sergeant?"_

_He ignored the dig of his rank; he knew how it must have sounded to her and he didn't begrudge her the need to lash out. "I see the men's eyes follow you everywhere. I see the way they fight for your smiles. I've seen a commando fight, bleed, resurrect himself from the dead, and it's all for **you**. Scarlett, even with everything I had, I could never compete with that."_

_Scarlett shook her head sadly. "How do you know that?"_

_He hadn't been expecting the question. He reeled helplessly in his own thoughts for a moment, but there was no good answer except to point out the obvious-the katana that hung over the head of any man who wanted Scarlett's favor. "Private Hauser may be all grown up and commanding his own unit, Scarlett, but he's still just a small-town boy who knows better now than to get too big for his boots. If a man had a chance with someone like you, he'd be more than that-more than just a country boy who's never going to be a rich man or a genius or a...ninja."_

_Scarlett's eyes were dark with fury. "You think you're competing with Snake Eyes?"_

_"Do you blame me?" he asked, feeling an answering anger. "Scarlett, **everyone** who knows you is competing with Snake Eyes. Half the Pit thinks you two already have something going on, and the other half is sure it'll happen eventually."_

_"Neither half asked **me**." She whirled to turn her back on him, tail of bright hair lashing over her shoulder with the abrupt movement, boot heel clicking sharply on the floor. She inhaled sharply, shoulders rising as though she were steeling herself. Her voice was softer as she spoke to the computer bank._

_"No one **ever** asks me. Not even Snake." Shaking her head sadly, she braced her hands against the console, as though she couldn't hold herself up under the weight of her thoughts. "I owe Snake Eyes my life. If I lived a hundred years, I could never repay him for what he did for me, what he gave up for me. I care about him in a way I can't even explain. And Snake never pushes—never—but...I feel him waiting."_

_Indeed, everyone felt it. It seemed the entire Pit was waiting for it; Duke himself had long ago attempted—and, he could admit now, failed—to make peace with what had seemed just so inevitable. _

_"I **know** he's waiting," Scarlett said, and every word seemed to throb with pain. "**Everyone** just thinks that there's only one way I could ever settle the debt." She smiled mirthlessly. "Sometimes, even I think it. That since I owe him my life, I should give him my heart."_

_Duke hated the way his heart rate picked up at what she'd left unspoken, hated the way he could roll his pulse in his mouth like candy. He couldn't seem to force his voice to a normal volume. _

_"Why not?"_

_"You said it yourself." She turned her head, bright hair spilling over her shoulder, and her smile was impossibly sad. "It's not mine to give anymore. Not for a long, long time."_

_Duke let himself drink her in for a moment, finally let himself fully acknowledge what he'd always felt—that even the worst battles they fought seemed worth it when she smiled at him, that he woke up looking forward to the day simply because she was there, that he dreamt of pulling her to him and burying his face in that bright hair until the world faded away and all that remained was the two of them._

_"How I would love you," he admitted gently._

_Scarlett's eyes were bright with pain, her voice thick with it, but to her credit, she remained calm. "Duke?"_

_If she only knew how he would love her—he was more than halfway there already, hooked for good and unable to do anything about it. His voice betrayed him, softening as he unburdened himself finally before those bluesky eyes. "Scarlett, falling in love with you would be as easy as breathing. Easier."_

_She waited._

_"It'd be good, too," he told her. "It'd be so damned good that it would ruin me. I know I'd lay awake thinking of how you were just a few corridors away, wishing you were in my arms, in my bed. I wouldn't last a week in meetings or mission briefings seeing you across the room without being able to hold you, not when I knew how you fit against me. Not when I knew how your kiss tasted." He shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. "And even if I couldn't tell you out loud, I'd **show** you, Scarlett..." _

_Unable to keep himself in check any longer, he crossed the room and reached for her, one large hand cradling her face to feel the heat of her blush; Scarlett's long lashes slid to half-mast and she tilted her head slightly, the better to nuzzle into his touch. "I'd make sure you knew how you make me feel, how you make everything better just by walking into a room. I'd let my hands and my mouth show you how beautiful you are..." She shuddered pleasantly and he stroked a thumb down her burning cheek, his voice dipping low as he made this forbidden vow. "I'll never love anyone the way I'd love you."_

_Forcing himself to release her, tortured by the feel of her hair brushing his hand as he pulled back, he tried to put steel into his voice and ended up sounding hoarse with desire instead. "I **can't** know. I can't know how you feel in my arms and know there'll be a day I won't get to hold you again. I can't know your kiss and know I'll lose it someday. I can't sleep alone knowing what it's like to have you in my bed." Looking into her wounded eyes, he shook his head. "I **can't** love you like that, Scarlett, just to lose you in the end."_

_"Lose me? I've had your six through blood and bullets, Duke," she said incredulously, the O'Hara steel spine pushing her to stand straighter. "We've been through hell together, and we'll go through hell again. How could you have so little faith in me?"_

_"Scarlett, I've got nothing but faith in you. It's me I don't trust," he said. "How could I keep you when I wouldn't be able to treat you the way you deserve—when I couldn't even touch your hand?" It was easier now to speak firmly, frustration crackling through him just from imagining the loss of her. "It's not fair to you—to either of us. And when you get tired—when you're sick of tiptoeing around and having to act professional in front of everyone, when you can't take that anymore—what then? When you start doubting me because I could never tell you how I felt without risking both our careers—when you realize you deserve better than a man bound and gagged by protocol..."_

_The words were thick and poisonous in his throat, but he forced them out anyway, for her, for them both. Better one big wound than an entire lifetime of smaller ones._

_"When you find someone else—" oh and it tasted terrible in his mouth to say it— "I'll have to watch. I'll have to know **he** goes into battle with your kiss on his lips, that **he** has you in his arms, in his bed, when **I'm** the one who's in love with you—"_

_He stopped, catching his own misstep, but it was too late—Scarlett's expression was unreadable, the blue eyes wide, the color drained from her face. He had never intended her to hear those words, but there was no pulling them back now, and he was hurting too badly to bring himself to care too much about it now. _

_"Shana, I'd..." He couldn't seem to force his voice above a defeated whisper. "I'd never get over you."_

_When he'd let her go, he'd stepped back to ensure that he wouldn't reach for her again; now she glided towards him, as if she had all the time in the world, her voice and eyes clear as she spoke, softly but determinedly. "I'll just have to never leave you, then."_

_Duke shook his head, willing his pulse not to pick up as her sudden nearness. "You haven't the faintest conception under God of what you're promising."_

_"I'm just promising what you promised," she said, stepping as close as she could without touching him, maddeningly calm now that she'd heard his arguments and rejected them. "Promising to show you, even if I can't tell you...promising that you'll never have to doubt me. That I'll never love anyone the way I'll love you." She lifted her head to look him in the eye, his own words on her lips. "Conrad, **how** I've loved you..."_

_Duke didn't remember taking her into his arms, but she fit against him perfectly, like he'd always known she would. She tilted her face up for his kiss, mouth opening beneath his, hot and sweet. He held her hard, not to hurt her but to make up for every harsh word he'd employed to try and scare her away from him, to show her that he'd never let her go now that she was his. _

_"You have my heart," he assured her in a rough whisper, wrapped his arms greedily around her, already hating the barrier of her fatigues between his hands and her skin as he pressed a palm against the small of her her back and lifted her to him for another demanding kiss. "You've always had my heart." Scarlett made a soft sound of wanting, pressing herself to him as if she couldn't get close enough, and he had to tear his mouth from hers, positive she could hear his racing heartbeat as surely as she could feel the evidence of his desire against her._

_Her gaze was impossibly tender as they caught their breath, her smile sweet, completely at odds with how passionately entwined she was in his arms. Gently, she reached up to brush a blond forelock out of his eyes. "You O.K., Top Kick?"_

_He smiled at the absurdity of the question—"O.K." was hardly good enough a term to describe how it felt to hold her at last, to know that she wanted the same thing, that her fourteen-carat smile was for him and him alone. There were no catcalls from the motor pool ringing in his ears here, no laserlike, lustful gazes from other Joes, no katana hanging over his head—**he** was the only man to have her like this. The face that launched a thousand Skystrikers, the ivory, silken exterior over a core of steel and a heart of gold—Scarlett, the sweetest soldier in the armed forces. And she was **his**. _

_"Affirmative," he teased, returning her smile. "All systems go."_

_A surprised peal of laughter rang out as she tossed her red head. "That's pretty lame, Hauser," she chuckled. "Is that your idea of romance?"_

_"No. This is," he said, dipping her back overdramatically and grinning at her surprised smile before taking her mouth fiercely. Scarlett's intended laughter became a sigh and a shudder of pleasure as she arched trustingly in his embrace, lips opening eagerly for his tongue. _

_Oh, there would be no going back from this. He couldn't even believe he'd managed to keep himself in check as long as he had, and it was surely only because he hadn't really believed he could have her like this, soft and strong in his arms, the white-hot passion of their kiss a delightfully torturous promise of future pleasures at each other's hands._

"_I will **never** get over you," he whispered hoarsely when they broke apart, their breath mingling, and his heart gave a staccato skip at her instantaneous response, given with the gentlest of kisses._

"_There won't ever be a need."_

And there hadn't been. It had just…_worked_.

It hadn't always been easy—certainly, they had quarreled, and each in turn had gotten frustrated with their uniquely difficult situation. Despite his position as the unit's first sergeant, it was indeed Scarlett who was stricter about their need for secrecy; she refused to tolerate the idea that she might someday be accused of earning her stripes in the bedroom, and despite her impressive service record, the fear that someone would think she'd slept her way through the ranks upset her. In front of the team Scarlett was all business—she remained sweet and friendly as was her way, and the camraderie she and Duke shared was that of close friends and comrades-in-arms, no more or less than it had been in the past. For the most part, he was grateful for her diligence; it made it easier to keep his own resolve, to be formal with her when the occasion warranted, to issue orders to her just as he'd done in the past, as he would to any other Joe. But it rankled him more than ever to see a soldier's gaze rest appreciatively on Scarlett, to hear Shipwreck cajole and flatter her. Even Snake Eyes' respectful devotion ignited a fierce possessiveness in Duke, a remnant of the country boy whose life he had and hadn't outgrown—an intense desire to let everyone know that Scarlett was _his_ girl. When she returned from a mission, bloody and battered, he wanted nothing more than to assert his right to be at her side, to lift her into his arms like a bridegroom and carry her to safety; instead he maintained a professional distance and waited till he could properly welcome her home.

But no matter how they argued at times, no matter how troublesome and trying it became, it was worth it—_she_ was worth it. Their P.T. sessions were now an excuse to wake up to that sunrise smile; he treated his hand-to-hand lessons from her with increasing severity, wanting to prove to her that he was a worthy partner. Their runs had become playful chases that ended with her in his arms, a time to simply be together without worrying that anyone might question them. When Duke was the one who came home with injuries, Scarlett's kiss was the only medicine he wanted, and when they were in the heat of battle, one glance at her was enough to redouble his resolve, knowing that whatever happened, they would be together.

And he made sure she knew it, as best he could—worked overtime to soothe every impersonal professional courtesy and every harshly barked order away with soft words, kisses, the touch of his hands, the way he'd promised he'd do it that first night. How he loved her, indeed, and the first time they'd managed to stagger their leave so that the end of hers had coincided with the beginning of his, he'd kept her up nearly the entire night, free at last to worship her body with his own the way he'd been aching to since the first time he'd seen her smile. A feeling of contentment he'd never experienced before had stolen over him as he'd lain awake in bed afterwards, watching the dawn filter through the room's partially tilted blinds and gently stroking Scarlett's bright hair as she slept peacefully in his arms, her ear pressed to his chest to hear the lullaby of his heartbeat. The brief flicker of macho pride in the fact that their lovemaking had worn her out had been quickly swept away by something deeper, fiercer—the _rightness_ of it; the knowledge she belonged with him, that they were meant to be this way, together.

Now he lay in a cold bed, alone, waiting for her to come back to him, but this was so much worse than anything that had come before. It was not other men, battle or disenchantment that kept her from his arms tonight, but the oldest enemy, the one that eventually separated all lovers. The enemy even the strongest soldier could not combat.

Swinging his boots over the side of the bed once more, Duke sat up again, elbows braced against his knees. "You promised," he whispered thickly, the words seeming too loud in the empty room. He pressed the heels of his hands to his burning eyes, finding no solace in the darkness behind them. "Shana, don't break my heart..."

When he raised his head, his vision was blurry, the digital numbers on the desk clock seeming to drip down its face like blood. Shaking the unpleasant image away, he tried to resolve the numbers into a time that made sense. Most likely someone was already wondering where he was, possibly looking for him, and there was work to do-there was always work to do. It was so late...

Picking up the clock, he looked once more at the bleeding red numbers that counted down the endless hours without Scarlett. Getting to his feet, he tossed the clock up once in his hand idly, testing its weight before winding up and pitching it at the wall. The clock all but exploded on impact, plastic shards spraying the room like shrapnel.

When he drifted over to survey his handiwork, he was mildly surprised to see that the digital display itself had survived, the batteries having jarred loose to prompt a constant flicker of the digital mutations that could have been either zeroes or eights. Not bothering to pick it up, Duke turned and exited the room, leaving the broken timepiece to its vigil on the floor, the damaged numbers far more accurate now in their ambiguity than they'd been five minutes before.

Without Scarlett, every minute seemed an hour, every hour a day, every day a lifetime. Only when she was back in his arms would the clock in his heart start up again.

* * *

><p><strong><span>Author's Notes:<span>**

**Cheer up emo kid: **During my first real heartbreak, I listened to way more Dashboard Confessional than should be allowed. Make no mistake, it's music to slit your wrists to, but I've got to give credit where credit is due—emo bands are hard to beat when it comes to poetic lyrics.

**Timber:** When it comes to the Sunbow cartoon, Timber is one of my very favorite inclusions. I always love it when he shows up in the classic comics, too, but in the cartoon he seems to have such a personality, and I love that. Wolves are my special animal—I've always loved them, and they are fascinating. When I was a little girl, my favorite novel in the entire world was Jack London's _White Fang_—I read it when I was eight and I've never _not_ had a copy of it on my shelf, wherever I lived. It's one of those books I take care to replace whenever I've worn the current copy out, and it's with homage to London in mind that I included this section in the fic. Pack dynamics for wolves is like a family—people will say "lone wolf", but that's the exception, not the rule; wolves are incredibly social. They live, feed and attack in groups, and there is a hierarchy, but dominance and respect have to be earned, which I appreciate. So I wanted my favorite wolf to have his very own place in this story, and he went above and beyond the call of duty, in my opinion.

**Tunnel Rat: **I know T. Rat doesn't show up until the '87 movie, but thanks in large part to _Resolute _and _Renegades_ I have a soft spot for the character, so he gets to be in here.

**"Nobody throws me my own guns and says run":** While ruminating on his inevitable eventual confrontation with Snake Eyes, Duke amuses himself by quoting a movie that puts me in mind of both of my favorite blond Joes, _The Magnificent Seven_. For those who don't know, _The Magnificent Seven_ is a 1960 Western that was based on the Japanese film _The Seven Samurai_. Duke is quoting James Coburn as Britt here (he's my favorite, not just for this line but for the part where he shoots a bandit on horseback; when another character praises him, Britt proclaims in disgust that he was aiming for the man's horse). At the end of the scene, Flint is actually quoting the villain of the film, Calvera, but he's right in saying no good deed goes unpunished—just ask Scarlett!

**The Vulcan Mind Meld:** When I was a little girl, I used to love to stay up late and watch _Star Trek_ with my father. General Hawk makes a reference to "the Vulcan mind meld", a technique used by Spock to share thoughts and memories with other carbon-based life forms.

"**Now you know, and you know what they say about knowing": **Whenever someone asks me to explain something, I always finish with "Now you know…and you know what they say about knowing." If the other person smiles and tells me it's half the battle, I offer to buy them a beer. The first man who tells me the other half consists of 25 percent red lasers and 25 percent blue lasers is going to get a beer _and _a marriage proposal.

**Next chapter:** A change in Scarlett's condition—she's got a lot to catch up on.


	9. It's Of Her I Dream

**Author's Introduction:**

I may not be at JoeCon this weekend, but my Joes are keeping me company nonetheless *smiles* And so are you, Constant Reader, as King would say—I thank anyone who's kind enough to still be reading and reviewing.

Usual disclaimers apply, as in, Hasbro and Mr. Hama should be thanked for letting us play with their toys, this story follows _**Sunbow **_canon, I'm making no money, and I own nothing—nothing, that is, except the likenesses of a few greenshirts who showed up and asked if they could be in this story.

I said they certainly could.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Nine: It's Of Her I Dream<strong>

_Well I could sleep forever  
><em>_But it's of her I dream  
><em>_If I could sleep forever  
><em>_I could forget everything  
><em>_If I could sleep forever…_

**(The Dandy Warhols, **_**Sleep**_**)**

* * *

><p>In the dream, the world was burning down.<p>

_Duke ran towards a warehouse haloed in hazy firelight. Every step closer made the heat more oppressive and the air was already thick with smoke, but the woman he loved stood in the doorway of the burning building, the wind whipping her hair so that it was difficult to distinguish between the red tresses and the flames that licked at the structure that was collapsing around her. Embers fell around her like dying fireworks, and no matter how he fought to get to her, he found moving more and more difficult with every passing second, until he was on his knees, reaching desperately for her. Her smile was brighter than the fire, and she seemed oblivious to the danger she was in, beckoning to him like a fantasy even as a piece of the doorframe weakened and fell behind her._

"_Scarlett, come back," he tried to call, but his voice wouldn't rise above a whisper. "Come here, honey, come away from there…"_

_She opened her arms to him, something shining and fine in the middle of the twisted, burning wreck of the warehouse, her face no less lovely for being smeared with soot, and Duke knew if he could only reach her everything would be all right—nothing was impossible as long as they were together…_

"_Come on, Duke," Scarlett purred sweetly. "Where's your spirit of adventure?"_

"Come back," Duke murmured, rolling over in his bunk. "Scarlett, come back to me…"

The dream fizzled into ambiguity as he woke, leaving him with nothing more than a feeling of uneasiness and the disquieting thought that he'd been startled awake by a nightmare he just missed remembering.

Luckily, he knew the cure for nightmares; he turned on his side, the sheets wrapping around him, knowing that solace was as simple as pulling her close to feel how her curves fit against him and bury his face in her soft hair. Sometimes this was too much for her keen senses and she would stir beneath his touch, and while he hated waking her, it was almost worth it to hear her whisper comfort to him as she reached back to caress his face, to feel the gentle stroke of her fingertips on the arm he'd thrown around her, the press of her lips to his knuckles as she squeezed his hand to let him know that he was safe with her, that she was there...

But she _wasn't_ there.

His reaching arm met with cold, empty space. No quiet murmur as he curled around her warm body, no sweet scent of cheap conditioner and jasmine teasing his nose, no silken hair tickling his shoulder.

"Scarlett?" he whispered, voice rusty from sleep as he slid his hand along the cool sheets in search of her. Due to their need for discretion, she couldn't always share his bed, but he'd been finding it harder and harder to sleep without her and was confident she felt the same; any night they could manage it, she slept in his arms. Where was she now? Maybe she'd gotten up early to work out, or maybe she'd—

He jolted fully awake, so hard it hurt, catapulted abruptly back into a reality where he _couldn't_ wake Scarlett, where his arms ached for her and the last words she'd heard from him were spoken in anger. The nightmare was out _here_, he realized as memories of the past few days came flooding poisonously back.

_She fell into my arms—she couldn't breathe—Shana, my—_

"_Shana_," he called out before he could stop himself, jackknifing upright, glancing around the dark room nervously as though someone was there to hear his cry of her given name, his voice thick with pain.

And just like that, the mask was back in place, down to the fact that he couldn't even allow himself a precious few seconds to cradle his head in his hands without reflexively trying to disguise it as a sleepy scrubbing of his face, as if he were in front of a roomful of Joes looking to him rather than alone in his own quarters. As he became aware of the pointless pantomime, he slowly let his hands drop, gazing blearily at the empty space beside him.

Gritting his teeth in preparation of facing another day without Scarlett, he turned towards the bedside table, briefly confused by its empty surface. What the hell time was it...?

Across the room, the broken clock still lay on the floor with its batteries seated crookedly against the connectors, surrounded by shards of plastic as it blinked its numerical seizure.

Duke shook his head. It didn't matter. There would be no more sleep, not now, and there was work to be done and a unit that needed him…a game to play…a mask to wear.

* * *

><p>One of the things that set Beach Head apart as a drill sergeant was that he never put his Joes through anything he hadn't already put himself through twice as hard. He knew exactly where they'd have trouble on his o-course, because <em>he<em> ran it every morning before muster, and he didn't want to hear them complain that they were tired or that they'd already worked out that day, because _he_ woke up long before reveille and put in five hard miles with a full pack every morning as a warm-up before the course, rain or shine. There had been quite a few soldiers who'd assumed he was bluffing, and he'd quickly worked out a suitable punishment for that—any doubting Joe was invited to join him for his morning routine, and if they outpaced him, he was more than willing to release them from the day's P.T.

Not a single one had ever outrun him. Those who still had enough stamina to attempt the course afterwards had never finished it ahead of him, if they finished at all. Only one greenshirt had ever gotten released from the day's P.T.—and that was because the kid had collapsed trying and had ended up in sick bay. Eventually, the stories had circulated widely enough that no one ever accused Beach Head of bluffing about his strict personal workout regimen anymore—something that disappointed him; he'd certainly enjoyed watching them struggle to keep up.

Duke was the only Joe who ever _voluntarily_ ran with Beach Head.

Honestly, the drill sergeant didn't mind; Duke was amiable company, and Beach Head never worried that his C.O. would collapse under the strain of the workout. He had simply come across the master sergeant one morning at zero-dark-thirty as he was beginning his run. Duke had been ready with a full pack, and with little more than an exchanged nod, Beach Head had acquiesced to letting him come along. The next morning the scenario had been repeated, but then three full weeks had gone by before Duke had run with him again. He'd kept up for six days, then disappeared for two entire months.

It was hardly for Beach Head to care whether anyone ran with him or not, and so he never asked Duke why his appearances were so sporadic. But even the drill sergeant wasn't made of stone, despite his well-cultivated reputation for badassery. Curiosity had eventually gotten the better of him and he'd begun trying to figure out if there were certain factors that contributed to whether or not Duke would show up to run but had not been able to discern a clear pattern.

When Beach Head had risen this particular morning, he had initially been sure he would not see Duke before muster; the last time they'd spoken had nearly ended with the master sergeant taking a swing at him. But as he'd remembered the incident, something had occurred to him to change his mind—a puzzle piece had clicked into place, and he took his time preparing his pack before slipping out into the damp morning to see if his hunch was correct. Sure enough, Duke was waiting outside, face gray with fatigue but pack settled securely on his back, ready to run.

"Mornin', Top," Beach Head said amiably, as though there had been no harsh words between them the day before, and Duke nodded; the two men set off without another word.

It was a mile and a half in before either of them spoke. "Scarlett's still in sick bay," Beach Head said.

Duke tilted his head, a brow arched in mild surprise as he glanced at the drill sergeant. His nod was barely discernable as his boots thudded heavily on the ground, but it was a nod nonetheless.

Beach Head nodded too, and said no more; his question had been asked and answered. Duke had his own morning P.T. routine, and the days he had shown up to run with Beach Head had not been random at all—the master sergeant would have run with anyone to distract himself from the empty place at his side.

_Her_ place.

* * *

><p>Regardless of his strict orders that Scarlett should not be disturbed while she was in critical condition, when General Hawk himself showed up at the sick bay doors, Doc moved immediately aside to let him through.<p>

Despite his businesslike air of command during his meeting with Duke, the general was in sympathy with his second-in-command—he found it similarly upsetting to imagine any of his Joes injured, and it was not easy to see one of the strongest members of his team at the mercy of the respirator, purplish bruising on her fair skin making the IV look cruel at the bend of her elbow. Scarlett's bright hair was tangled around her face, and her lips were chapped around the tube that was breathing for her. She gave no sign that she heard his entrance, even when he purposely scraped the legs of one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs kept in the sick bay for visitors against the floor.

Still, Hawk greeted the unconscious woman with a smile—he firmly believed that acting as though Scarlett was beaten would be detrimental to her recovery. Resolving instead to speak to her as though he were simply visiting a friend, he sat down and tried to get comfortable. After taking a few minutes to attempt to find a correct station of karma in the molded plastic seat, the general gave up and allowed himself to slouch a little. Resting an elbow on the metal guardrails meant to keep Scarlett safely in the medical cot, he sighed, tilting his head to appraise his charge affectionately. "You always did meet everything head-on."

No answer from the sleeping redhead. It was not encouraging, but Hawk refused to allow his concern to show on his face, regardless of how heavy Scarlett's lashes lay on her cheek. He could see that their tips were still singed, along with her eyebrows—proof of her heroic dash into the burning warehouse. Hawk was certain that it had never occurred to Scarlett _not_ to attempt to rescue the children, despite her lack of gear or the fact that she didn't have a plan; one of her greatest strengths was her ability to improvise, and her own safety was never her concern when she was trying to ensure someone else's.

This time Hawk's smile was more of a genuine reaction and less of a show for the comatose soldier; when he patted Scarlett's hand, he was careful of the oxygen monitor clamped over her fingertip. "No one will ever argue you're not one brave girl, Shana O'Hara."

The general had thought that seeing Scarlett with his own eyes might be encouraging; he had even hoped to have a good report to bring back to his curious Joes—anyone who hadn't been on the street crime detail had spent the last few days pestering the ones who had for the story—but this was proving to be a tactical error. Scarlett lay still, the bellows of the respirator expanding and contracting for her malfunctioning lungs while the heart monitor continued to beat its steady rhythm, blissfully unaware of the havoc she was wreaking on her fellow Joes. Hawk shook his head, imagining a similar machine monitoring the team's heart, its beeping erratic as its graphs dipped low and struggled to pull out of valleys. Scarlett was their heart, and without her they all fell like dominoes.

Lady Jaye was a wreck. She had spent the last few days going through her daily duties mechanically, her movements twitchy. Coffee leapt from the cups in her unsteady hands to tattoo the floor with a telltale trail wherever she went. When Hawk had passed her by just this morning on his way down to sick bay, he'd watched her lose her grip on an entire file folder, spilling its contents across the corridor just in time for Torpedo to step on a page protector and slide heavily into a wall. Any attempt to ask her what was wrong was stalled by a swift assurance that she was just fine, her normally husky voice taking on a higher-pitched, almost childlike timbre, her eyes scanning the room like nervous radar. While it made Hawk uncomfortable to have to pretend he didn't notice Flint hovering over her, he didn't blame the warrant officer for being concerned that Jaye was jumping at shadows.

Snake Eyes, who was never a steady presence at the Pit even on the best of days, had become a ghost. No one had seen hide nor hair of him since Scarlett had been installed in sick bay, although the reports of him defying gravity on his way to fetch Doc for her were spreading like wildfire. Hawk himself had heard that story three times already since last night, and every time it got more and more outrageous—the last time, Short Fuze was swearing up and down that Snake had been running on the ceiling.

And Duke…

During his meeting with Duke, Hawk had gotten the sense that the master sergeant was troubled by Scarlett's condition. That in itself was hardly cause for concern, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that Duke was taking this rather hard. Over the last few days, the master sergeant's presence on the base had gone from friendly, frequent check-ins to almost nonexistent. When he did make an appearance, he was wound up and short with his soldiers, and according to reports, he'd been an absolute fiend with anyone who tried to inquire about the street crime detail or its aftermath. There was no explanation for the erratic behavior; nothing had changed at the Pit besides Scarlett's admission to the sick bay.

Even the mightiest of men would be little more than a shell without his heart, and Hawk had a sneaking suspicion that Scarlett was holding one hostage as she lay at the mercy of the machines.

The general sighed. He supposed it was inevitable; even he was fighting feelings of depression at seeing the normally vivacious redhead lying so quiet and still. It wasn't an ideal situation, but General Clayton Abernathy wasn't naive; he was well aware there were things that even the strongest soldier couldn't fight.

"You can't give up," Hawk said, his voice quiet but firm as he took Scarlett's hand carefully in his own. "Get up. I know you can do it. You've _got_ to get up, Scarlett."

For a moment, he felt the faintest pressure against his fingers. Was he imagining that she was trying to hold his hand? The flicker of hope that had been nearly extinguished flamed to life once more, and he made sure his voice was firm and commanding as he squeezed her hand. "That's it. _That's_ it. Come on, soldier."

Scarlett didn't move, and gave no further indication of alertness, but Hawk had seen enough. He was positive that she was still in there and that she'd heard him. He had no doubt that she'd come back from this, would rise from the ashes stronger than ever, justifying his recruitment of her just as she always had.

Just as she always would.

Relaxing his grip on her hand, Hawk got up, the plastic chair creaking at the loss of his weight as he issued a gentler farewell to the sleeping soldier. "Everyone's waiting for you, Scarlett," he said, placing her hand carefully on the cot beside her. "It wouldn't be very nice of you to break their hearts."

* * *

><p>In light of his recent discovery as to Duke's motives for running with him as well as their near-fistfight the day before, Beach Head had asked if Duke had wanted to go a few rounds in the sand pit with the pugil sticks, but the master sergeant had declined, almost nervously, his eyes drifting warily over to the instruments in question as though he didn't trust himself not to take the other man's head off with them. Beach Head could admit Duke's refusal had come as a disappointment; he'd been hoping the man would blow off some steam and settle down a bit. Instead, they started on the o-course without another word, the need to regulate their breathing on the parallel bars eliminating conversation. Right away, he received more evidence that the master sergeant should have agreed to spar—Duke whacked his shin a good one on the first hurdle and responded by putting a boot through the second one before simply vaulting the remaining hurdles to catch up to Beach Head, a blank stare on his face the entire time.<p>

Beach had been most pleased with the latest addition to the course, especially given the fact that Hawk was likely to shut it down as soon as he found out about it. On a recent high-speed chase in which Zarana's motorcycle had proved more maneuverable in a tight spot than Clutch's VAMP, the latter had totaled that vehicle (along with the drive-thru window of a Roy Rogers; it was a perk of being a member of a super-secret covert ops team that Clutch hadn't had to deal with the legal blowback from that episode), smashing the right rear side, breaking an axle and dislodging the machine gun mount. Before the motor pool had been able to cannibalize the remains of the VAMP for parts, Beach Head had rescued it and installed it on the course as an obstacle, half-burying it at an angle in a mound of earth to secure it. He'd had help, but he wasn't worried about his accomplice ratting him out—when he'd ordered Snake Eyes not to "say anything", the commando had given him the most sarcastic tilt of the head he'd ever seen. As they came to the new installation, Beach hung back a little in anticipation of his C.O.'s reaction.

But Duke didn't even blink at the sight of the half-buried VAMP—not a grin in sympathy with the drill sergeant's mischief, nor a frown at the dangerous nature of the obstacle or the skirting of protocol in installing it. He simply charged ahead, his eyes focused single-mindedly on the path before him; for a moment, Beach Head got the idea that the master sergeant would have been similarly unperturbed no matter what lay in his path, whether it was a million dollars or an irate rhinoceros. Finally, the drill sergeant stopped dead in his tracks and simply watched his C.O. attack the obstacle.

With Snake Eyes' help, Beach Head had purposely positioned the wreckage of the VAMP so that one side of the open roll cage was buried beneath the dirt mound it rested in, thus forcing his Joes to climb rather than just run through the cab. The fastest way to scale the wreck would have been to circle the dirt mound and climb the stoved-in rear of the vehicle, where it would be easiest to leap onto the torn seats and jump back out to the hood. There was no way anyone (other than possibly Snake) could safely jump from the cab to the ground without using the hood as a springboard, and Beach Head didn't figure anyone would try to overcomplicate the already insane obstacle—till Duke seized what was left of the machine gun mount, hauled himself up the undamaged left rear fender and thrust both fists through the cracked back windshield as though throwing a double-punch to an opponent's face, a favorite trick of his in hand-to-hand fights. It took a lot to startle the drill sergeant, but as Beach Head heard the already weak windshield break beneath the onslaught, he stopped for a moment watching as Duke crawled through the cab of the VAMP. The front windshield was already broken, and Duke appeared a moment later, climbing through it onto the hood. His hands were bleeding, the knuckles torn, a fresh cut across the back of one hand. Blood was seeping from a gash in his muscular forearm as well, likely from his being too impatient to clear the broken glass from the back windshield before he'd climbed through it, but he jumped down to the ground from the hood of the VAMP, dusting his fatigue pants off and waiting for Beach Head to catch up, arms crossed rather impatiently over his chest.

Slowly, the drill sergeant deliberately climbed the wreck as he expected his Joes to, stomping purposefully on the fender and the hood as he jumped down. When he got to the other side, he glanced pointedly at the blood running down Duke's arm and dripping from his elbow, waiting for the other man to react. But the master sergeant's eyes never dropped, and after a moment Beach Head resumed running, Duke threatening to outpace him almost immediately, as though he couldn't wait to get to the next obstacle. With the same clarity that had revealed the real reason for Duke's presence this morning and so many mornings past, Beach Head realized that the master sergeant probably hadn't even considered climbing the VAMP the easy way and likely didn't even feel the resulting injuries he'd incurred, so desperate was he to create a defeatable opponent. To test the theory, he put on a bit more speed, and sure enough, Duke accelerated as well. Beach Head redoubled his efforts, and soon the two men were practically racing to the next installation, a twelve-foot wall with two ropes dangling down to assist in the climb. While they reached the ropes at relatively the same time, it didn't take Beach Head long to put some distance between them—it had been foolish of Duke to smoke his arms bulling his way through the corpse of the VAMP, and it was showing as the master sergeant fell behind.

Truth be told, Beach Head didn't harbor any resentment over their disagreement the day before. He was a man who met his problems head-on—the shortest distance between two points was always a straight line, and the Ranger's strength and skill had never failed him in a direct assault. Now that context had been established for yesterday morning's episode, Beach Head almost wished he'd let Duke take the shot at him—it wouldn't have been the first time the drill sergeant had taken a punch, nor the last. He thought Duke might do well to lock it up a little more, but a man was only a man, and it wasn't his business how Duke handled his problems. Still, fires couldn't be fought with fists; illness and injury cared nothing for how much weaponry you had. The master sergeant was wound so tightly he was ready to take a swing at anyone in his frustration at being able to combat an entire team of Cobra soldiers, but not one senseless accident.

Accident...

An idea occurred to the drill sergeant—a way that he could be useful without having to take a punch, and maybe it'd save his stubborn C.O. from putting his foot in it again. With one hand on the rope and one on the wall, he glanced back and saw that Duke was still doggedly attempting to catch up, grunting as he stomped his way up the wall, knuckles white as he hung onto his own line.

Unable to stop a rueful smile from quirking his lips, Beach Head prepared to take one for the team. Because if this worked, it would be _ages_ before he would live it down, if he managed to live it down at all.

He let go of the rope.

As he plummeted, Beach Head heard Duke utter a surprised oath, and then his senses rattled as he hit the ground at an awkward angle. His right foot turned with a sharp warning stab of pain before he turned the impact into a clumsy roll, his shoulder slamming into the ground as he hit. Despite his efforts, there was no way to soften a fall from that height, and although it wasn't anything he couldn't have shaken off, the discomfort was irritating and immediate—he didn't have to fake that it hurt, and genuinely intended the string of expletives he gave voice to.

"_Holy GOD damn _son of a syphilitic _bitch_. For the _love of_..." Rolling onto his side, he drew a knee into his chest, clutching at his right foot. "Joseph H. _Colton_ Christ in a H.I.S.S. tank."

He stopped there, not wanting to ham it up too badly, and by that time Duke had slid down the rope to drop off the wall more safely and circled around to where he lay, offering a hand. "Beach? You all right?"

"Do I look like I'm all right, Top?" Beach Head snapped, and when he took the offered hand and hauled himself to his feet, he made sure to favor his right foot, putting all his weight on his left. As soon as he let go of Duke's hand, he clutched the shoulder he'd landed on as well, rubbing at it. "Landed bad. Damn it."

Duke blinked, a puzzled frown creasing his features as he watched the drill sergeant take a few hobbling steps. "Take a breather," he suggested, then paused, waiting for Beach Head to insist that he didn't need no god damned breather, that he'd see Duke at the finish line, et cetera.

Despite the misplaced aggression many of the Joes had for Beach Head and the increasingly creative nicknames they came up with for him, the drill sergeant was straight as a die. His motives were never in question and if one wanted his opinion on anything, all they had to do was ask—if the expression on his face hadn't already answered their question for him. Which was why the performance he gave now, as wooden and silly as even he was sure it looked, was nothing short of heroic.

"Yeah," he panted, limping a short distance off the track. "Yeah, maybe for a minute."

"How'd you hit?" Duke asked, his severe expression softening minutely.

"How'dya _think_ I hit? Hard." He feigned trying to put weight on his right foot again, then hissed and muttered a curse, staggering. "Ahhhh, _dammit_."

Duke's expression gave way to full-on confusion, as though he weren't sure what to do while the normally Spartan drill sergeant hobbled around and groused over what had obviously been a minor injury. "Well, just—just let me know when you're ready," he said, and just like that, the Incredible Hulk turned back into the All-American Boy Scout again, the frosty blue eyes warming over with concern.

"Nah, I think I'm done for the day," Beach Head declared with a heavy sign of resignation. "Go on without me, Top."

If Beach Head had told Duke that he was considering leaving the service in order to dress as a clown and visit sick children in a hospital ward, the master sergeant would have been less surprised. "_What_?"

"Sorry, Duke, but I landed so hard my fillings rattled," Beach Head said, and turned his foot out slightly as if to display it. "And this foot ain't up to the rest o' that course."

Duke simply stared at the drill sergeant, as though he were waiting for the punch line. "You've got to be kidding."

Beach Head had known it wouldn't be easy to sell this, and he had no faith in his own acting skills, so the only option left was to stand his ground. "Do I look like I'm kiddin', Top Kick?" he snarled, his accent growing thicker and his voice growing louder with the only weapon he had left—getting indignant. "Ya think I want ev'ryone t'hear that I couldn't finish my_ own _course 'cause of a little slip? Ya think I'll ever live this down if it gits out?"

Luckily, Duke blanched, shifting his weight back to his heels and putting his hands out in an I-mean-no-harm gesture. It wasn't exactly taking a step back, but he was clearly giving the drill sergeant ground. "Let's just call it even. When are the greenshirts reporting for P.T. this morning?"

_Snap_. The sound of the closing trap. Beach Head fought a smirk as he threw up his hands in showy exasperation. "Duke, didya hit yer head climbin' through that VAMP? If I can't run the rest of _my own damn course_, what in _hell_ makes you think I can run an entire P.T. session?" For emphasis, he hobbled a few more steps off the course, forcing Duke to jog after him. "Believe you me, I ain't happy about this. You know those milksop greenshirts need all th' help I c'n give 'em."

The look of momentary panic that flashed across Duke's exhausted face, there and gone like heat lightning, was so priceless that it was a considerable effort for Beach Head to keep a straight face. "Beach, I haven't got time for this. What the hell am _I_ supposed to do with a P.T. session full of greenshirts?"

Abruptly, Beach Head turned around and hobbled away from his C.O. as fast as he was able—not because he was irritated with the question, but because he couldn't keep the smile off his face anymore. "Use yer imagination, Top—you'll thinka somethin'!"

* * *

><p>Lifeline often mused that if he could find a cure for crankiness, it'd be the best medicine he could ever give the Joes who had to stay in his sick bay. Those who found themselves laid up there complained, threatened, mounted escape attempts. But today, his patient was uncharacteristically silent.<p>

Of all the Joes, Scarlett wasn't exactly his _most_ troublesome patient, but she was certainly in his top five. While the redhead was all grace and professionalism in the field, when it came to the sick bay, she behaved like a cranky child—her tantrums were second only to Beach Head's, her escape attempts rivaled only by (and sometimes assisted by) Snake Eyes. Unlike Joes such as Cover Girl or Tunnel Rat, who'd happily accept a sedative to sleep off their pain and get back on their feet, Scarlett insisted on playing chicken with her injuries, as though she were trying to prove she was too tough to need treatment. Lifeline had decided that it was simply a side-effect of working a dangerous job alongside a unit full of extremely tough men and had once attempted to reason with her, telling her that she didn't need to prove _anything_ to a Pit full of Joes who all _knew_ how strong she was. Scarlett's true-blue eyes had softened and she'd thanked him prettily, admitting the possibility that she put too much pressure on herself. Lifeline had smiled and promised her that no one would think any less of her for having to take time to recover as all soldiers did, and Scarlett had accepted his gentle pat of her hand, settling down in her cot with a promise to rest. Naturally, twenty minutes later he'd caught her trying to sneak herself out in the laundry cart with the unwashed bedsheets.

After that all bets had been off. Every time she had occasion to check into his sick bay, Lifeline treated Scarlett with all the perfunctory wariness one would use on an inmate of a sick bay in a maximum-security prison. If he knew she was coming in, he asked one or two available Joes to act as sentries to prevent her from bolting for the door. If he had license to sedate her, he didn't hesitate, and on a few occasions, he had been forced to use physical restraints. All her attempts at bribery, flattery or insults fell on deaf ears. If Scarlett actually managed an escape attempt, Lifeline wasted no time—Snake Eyes could at least be counted on to take the medic's side if he thought Scarlett was liable to make whatever injury or sickness worse in her attempts to avoid treatment, and for his part, Duke agreed with that sentiment, monitoring these activities with a sort of reluctant amusement—all but once. The time Scarlett had been hobbled with a dislocated knee, Lifeline had relaxed a little, figuring she wouldn't get too far on crutches. Scarlett had decided it was high time she got back at the medic for his patronizing treatment of her and had enlisted Snake Eyes and Tunnel Rat to try and smuggle her out of the sick bay in, of all things, a body bag. When they'd been caught, Duke had hit the ceiling and made all their lives as miserable as possible for the next week. He'd ordered that Scarlett be confined to the sick bay long past her original twenty-four hour hold, stuck Tunnel Rat on K.P. duty, and ensured that Snake Eyes' hand-to-hand sessions had contained all of the greenshirts that annoyed him the most. Since it was hardly the most elaborate stunt anyone had ever pulled in sick bay or otherwise, Lifeline had never really been sure what had set the master sergeant off that day.

Now, memories of that ridiculous day returning to him, Lifeline realized for the first time that it had been the sight of the body bag, and all it represented, that had been the trigger for their C.O.'s sudden, inexplicable rage at what should have been a rather harmless prank. Duke had been furious at even the idea that one of his Joes—that _Scarlett_—should ever have that fat zipper drawn up and over her face, her eternally closed eyes; the petty "punishments" his revenge on them for forcing him to even consider the possibility.

Today, Lifeline had his own way of dealing with the unwelcome thought.

"It's good to see you resting comfortably, Scarlett," he said amiably. "Wouldn't want those delicate bones of yours to be strained. I hear Southern ladies have weak constitutions."

No answer from the redhead, not that it surprised him. Had she been awake, she'd have immediately challenged him to an arm-wrestling match at the very least, possibly while insulting his parentage, but today, she was silent. Still keeping a conversational tone, Lifeline added, "Cover Girl said something about coming in here later and doing your nails. With a nice _pink_ polish."

Still no answer, not even the flicker of an eyelash, and for the first time, Lifeline was lonely for the instances in which Scarlett had tried to escape his little house of healing. He almost missed her tantrums and her threats, would have been happy to see her open her eyes and reveal she'd been playing possum, waiting for him to let his guard down so she could bolt for the door. But she lay still and quiet, the monitors chirping, the respirator's bellows expanding and contracting because her own lungs would not.

With a sigh, Lifeline adjusted her hands on the scratchy bed linens, checked the clamp on her finger. "I'm going to go for some coffee. You'd better not try anything while I'm gone," he told her, trying not to sound defeated but eventually finishing with a quiet admonishment of "Scarlett, just...rest."

And for the first time ever, the sleeping redhead obeyed him. And he hated it.

So distracted was the medic by his own thoughts that when he walked through the doors into the outer room that he managed to nearly injure _himself_ by slamming right into the sick bay's latest potential occupant.

"What the hellerya _doin'_ there?" the drill sergeant bawled, reaching down as though he would rub his shin.

After a second of stunned blinking, Lifeline regained his presence of mind and answered that question the only way possible: "What am _I_ doing here? What are _you_ doing here?"

If it had been any other Joe, Lifeline would have immediately gotten to his feet, apologized, dusted himself down and asked how he could be of service. But Beach Head had simply never walked _into_ the sick bay. Not voluntarily, anyway.

In fact, he hadn't walked in at all; it had been an exaggerated hobble, and even now he treated Lifeline to a good Hollywood limp as he came further into the room. "Ya gotta free cot I c'n check into, Lifeline?"

Instead of giving in to his instinctive urge to grab a thermometer and gauge the obviously delirious drill sergeant's temperature, Lifeline forced himself to assess the situation and think critically for a moment. Reaching a much more sensible conclusion, he folded his arms and glared. "All right, which one of them was it?"

It was Beach Head's turn to blink in surprise. "Beg yer pardon?"

"Which one of them sent you? Lady Jaye? It was Lady Jaye, wasn't it?" Lifeline pressed. "I don't know what part of 'I'll let you know when there's news' that woman doesn't understand."

Beach Head's teeth grit. "If you've seen Lady Jaye, tell 'er she owes me a new pop-up target. I ain't seen that woman since she busted up the finishin' line o' my course. I swear she better run for her life th' next time she's on—"

Lifeline was not about to be distracted from his interrogation. "Then it was Snake Eyes. Did he threaten you to get you to cooperate? If he did, you should just—"

The annoyed expression on Beach Head's face shifted its focus from the absent Lady Jaye to the medic in front of him. "Lifeline, _what_ the hell are you talkin' about? I ain't seen Snake _or_ Jaye all mornin' and if I'm not mistaken, this is where you go when yer hurt. Well, I'm hurt and I'm here, so would you stop askin' me dumbass questions and patch me up, or do I need to do it myself?"

This time, Lifeline did give in to a reflexive reaction, flattening himself against the nearest cabinet as though he would stop Beach Head from rifling through it. "_No_. The last time you did that you used up all the gauze and broke my blood pressure cuff. I'll do it. What's wrong?"

"I fell on the damn course," Beach Head reported brusquely, pointing at his leg, which looked, for all intents and purposes, normal. "Jarred my foot."

Much as Duke had, Lifeline stared blankly at the drill sergeant, waiting for the punchline.

The two men blinked at each other before Lifeline prompted, "...and then what happened?"

Beach Head frowned at Lifeline the way an impatient teacher might frown at a slow learner in the classroom, speaking slowly and deliberately. "An' then I came _here_, to get it _looked_ at."

Again, if it had been any other Joe, Lifeline might have believed this line, or at least given his patient the benefit of the doubt. But since Beach Head treated the sick bay like his own personal hell, the medic wasn't fooled. There was no way the hard-boiled drill sergeant would come in for a twisted ankle when he had in the past refused to come in for a gunshot wound. "Aren't you supposed to be running P.T. this morning? What will the greenshirts think?"

Unable to help himself, the corner of Beach Head's mouth quirked up in a shadow of the sadistic smirk he brought out on the o-course. "Dunno, Lifeline, I gotta feeling the greenshirts won't even know how good they had it till Top Kick puts 'em through the shredder. What do _you_ think?"

Lifeline's expression relaxed into mild surprise at the fact that Beach Head had allowed anyone, Duke or otherwise, to take over his precious P.T. session with the greenshirts, who he delighted in fire-hardening to his lofty standards till he could send them out into the field with a barely-perceptible gleam of pride in his battle-jaundiced eye...till the medic remembered the stone cold look of fury on Duke's face when Lifeline had barred him access to the sick bay, his barely leashed frustration as he'd watched the machines breathe for Scarlett. A storm was building in the master sergeant, and whether it was intentional or not, Beach Head had just given it a perfect place to break.

Mouth set in a grim line, Lifeline turned towards the cabinets he had been previously protecting and began setting out supplies—Ace bandages, ice packs, antiseptic. "I think I probably won't have enough of this stuff," was his answer.

* * *

><p>When Katherine Jessop had been in college, she'd joined a sorority—Tri Beta. The pledges had been appropriately hazed during Hell Week and while no one had been injured except a poor goose that had been shoved into a pillowcase to beat the unfortunates with (they'd tried to float the body on the lake the next day, but no one believed that a goose could have broken its neck from natural causes. Kate had been glad she hadn't been responsible for the death of a helpless animal), they'd accumulated plenty of emotional and mental bruises. The part Kate had hated the most had been the goldfish—each pledge had been instructed to get a goldfish, name it and care for it over the course of rush. During Hell Week, the blindfolds had come out pretty early on, and while it was scary enough not knowing if they were to be whipped, slapped, led somewhere dangerous or driven to a field and expected to find their way back blind—all of which had happened to older battle-scarred sisters—the worst part for Kate was when a sister had asked her, "What's your goldfish's name, pledge?"<p>

Knees knocking, Kate had stammered wretchedly, "C-Cosmo, ma'am," and the sister had called over her shoulder, "Can somebody bring me Cosmo's bowl over here?" before remarking in a darkly amused voice, "Open wide, pledge."

Even though she was a grown-up now and intellectually knew that she had only been forced to blindly eat an orange wedge—Cosmo had swum safe and sound in his bowl for another six months before going to the great bubbling treasure chest in the sky—Kate still shivered at the memory of the mean trick.

And, she reflected darkly, she still thought Hell Week had been less traumatizing than one day of P.T. with Sergeant Major Beach Head.

"I don't want to go," she blurted out as she walked towards the o-course, where most of the other greenshirts were already mustering. "Quick, Hollywood. Punch me in the ribs."

"No way," the greenshirt she was addressing laughed, treating her to a megawatt smile that had probably made him king of whatever fraternity _he'd_ been in on Greek Row. "He'll just make you run it anyway. You're only handicapping yourself."

"Said the guy who's combing his hair right before we crawl in the mud," Kate sniped playfully. It was true—her fellow recruit was already proving to be protective of his dark good looks, and Beach Head hadn't yet been able to break him of the habit of keeping a small comb stashed in the pocket of his fatigues. Now he smiled cheekily at her and made a big show out of running the comb through his hair.

Hollywood's grin always looked a little rakish because of the thin scar that cut diagonally across the bridge of his nose, beginning under one eye and stopping just short of the opposite brow. He'd earned that scar not in combat but in training, the very first day they'd been taken out on the o-course. Sean Hillman had had—past tense—a pair of Persols that he'd just about slept in, and before the newly-minted greenshirts even had their code names, he had made the mistake of not realizing that the leniency given to things like Scarlett's insensibly bright hair, Breaker's gum habit, Timber's freedom to roam the Pit and Flint and Lady Jaye's not-so-secret flirting did not extend to the newest recruits. Hillman had stood in formation at the beginning of the o-course along with the rest of the greenshirts with the aviators perched securely on his nose.

Beach Head had certainly viewed all of the greenshirts with the special contempt a senior officer had for a rookie, but he'd given a particularly withering glare to Hillman before ordering, "Take those stupid things off, Corporal. You look like a goddamned moron."

All of the greenshirts had heard harrowing campfire tales of the maniac drill sergeant and his habit of trying his best to terrify the newbies and whip them into shape, like trying to herd a group of wiggly, playful puppies by sending in a kodiak bear. Hillman had set out to distinguish himself in the eyes of his peers by grinning at Beach Head, nonplussed. "Just trying to keep the sun out of my eyes, sir."

Nonchalantly and completely without ceremony, Beach Head had answered this question with a jab to the face. Unprepared, Hillman had taken the full force of the hit, although Beach Head had obviously pulled his punch—there was less damage to Hillman's face than to his beloved Persols; they shattered under the impact of the drill sergeant's huge fist, a shard of broken lens slicing through the thinner skin of his nose.

"Try keepin' that outta yer eyes," Beach Head had advised somberly, then had turned to address all of the greenshirts. "There will be _no_ additional accoutrements worn during P.T., maggots!" The smile that had threatened to quirk his lips—a smile that the greenshirts would become all too familiar with, and would learn to dread in the coming days—had bordered on sadistic. "After all, as _Hollywood_ over here just demonstrated to us, they could become a hazard."

Hillman had spent the rest of the day blushing furiously at the laughter of his fellow greenshirts (and some of the Joes; redhaired, prettily imposing Scarlett had been overheard remarking to Snake Eyes that she hadn't known Beach Head even knew the word "accoutrement", and while the fearsome commando naturally said nothing, his shoulders had visibly shaken with unmistakable laughter). The Persols hadn't survived the day, but the scar on Hillman's face—along with the codename "Hollywood"—was something he was going to be stuck with forever.

Broad, sandy-haired Jake O'Halloran, a quiet, rather serious Kansas native who seemed the type to plant his feet on the floor every morning with the full intent of doing his level best at whatever his workload was for the day, had overheard their exchange. "You look a little wiped out from hand-to-hand yesterday," he said kindly, dark blond brows lowering over his concerned eyes. "If you think you need to lay low today, I'll cover for you."

Kate appreciated the offer, but she knew there was no way even a big ox like O'Halloran could stand in the way of Beach Head, and the flattery of his offer was tempered strongly by the fact that it was obviously insane. "No," she sighed in defeat, "no, I've got to take my lumps just like the rest of you guys. Thanks anyway, Whip."

Jake smiled, changing his normally severe expression wonderfully for the better, and it cheered Kate up to think that she was helping him deal with the stigma of his own code name by shortening it. He'd had the best time behind the wheel of the VAMP on the driving course, but he hadn't managed to stick the landing, turning a donut and prompting his passenger to seize the roll bars with both hands as though worried she'd be thrown from the vehicle. It wasn't like the other greenshirts had ribbed him too hard—most of them would have given their eyeteeth to earn their code name from sexy, sailor-mouthed Cover Girl—but Kate had known her new friend had been mortified when that curvaceous Joe had used her grip on the roll cage to haul herself up, tossing her mane of strawberry blonde hair and whooping, "_Whoa_, there, O'Halloran, you're gonna give me _whiplash_!"

"You'll get to show your teeth when we're in the pool, Kelpie," O'Halloran assured her, and his tone was warm, with none of the teasing edge that Hillman always spoke with. It was true that Kate, who'd joined the Navy right after college once she'd seen the life of drudgery and misery the poor economy was affording her, swam like a fish—she'd earned her own name when their lifeboat had deployed upside down, a nuisance when your craft was sinking and you got dumped into freezing water; it was hard to get enough leverage to right the lifeboat, no matter how strong you were. With a combined effort, the group of greenshirts in the pool (and Beach Head had made sure it was frigid—one part sadism, two parts in the interest of simulating real combat conditions) had righted the craft, only to have Kate immediately use Whiplash's burly shoulder and another unlucky recruit's head to springboard herself into it, the better to haul her mates in. Taylor hadn't been amused, incorrectly accusing Kate of panicking and trying to drown him in her haste to get clear. "Kelpie" had stuck.

However, she hadn't had to deal with any blowback from that incident, mostly due to the gentle giant currently at her side. Nothing seemed to affect Whiplash too much; he viewed both their grueling training and the threat of Cobra that always loomed on the horizon with placid single-mindedness, as if these things were all an accepted part of his reality, like shoelaces or the carburetor. Not for the first time, Kate wondered why he'd been recruited, although the man was strong as a bull and a whiz with anything with an engine. Should he make it through training, he would likely end up in the motor pool—and from what Kate had heard about the motor pool, they were far more likely to drive Whip insane than he was to temper their mania.

But he never seemed to have anything but friendly smiles for her, despite—or maybe because of—the incident in the pool. Kate was grateful for his steady presence, along with Hollywood's razor wit, as she wrestled with the intensity of their training. Despite their struggles, there was a feeling of camaraderie, of rightness when they joked and groused and hauled each other through obstacles and fell asleep at night from sheer exhaustion.

_Team_, she thought as she treated them to a sarcastic smile, a we're-all-in-this-together expression of rueful readiness, and they flanked her wordlessly, the automatic staging reinforcing her security in their little unit.

Before she could think on it further, the usual bellow of "ten-_hut_" snapped them all to attention, although, to Kate's ears, it seemed a little sharper, crisper than Beach Head's usual sadistic drawl of anticipation. As the greenshirts scrambled into formation, awaiting the start of their torture, Kate allowed herself a few seconds to wish herself away. _Why doesn't the big beast ever sleep in once in a while? Does he ever take sick days? Can't we catch a break even one t—_

And then it seemed her prayers were answered. The call for attention had indeed come in a cadence they weren't used to, and it was not Beach Head who approached them now, but their field commander himself, blond, rock-steady Master Sergeant Conrad "Duke" Hauser. The greenshirts exchanged looks, fighting the urge to murmur in confusion—where was Beach Head?

"All right, you lot, naptime's over," Duke said brusquely as he paced in front of the group of greenshirts. Kate had always appreciated that the master sergeant didn't use Beach Head's tactic of referring to the mixed group as "ladies" as though it were a derogatory term. She knew it had been ingrained in the drill sergeant and was simply a habit that held no subtext whatsoever, but it was still refreshing to have a change. "Sergeant Major Beach Head is laid up with an injury, so I'll be your executioner today."

A few of the greenshirts smiled at the joke, but Hollywood's impulse control hadn't been fire-hardened yet and he was unable to stop himself from blurting out, "Something injured _Beach_ _Head_? What the hell was it, _Rodan_?"

Some of the greenshirts were unable to hold back chuckles this time, and Duke turned on his heel to zero in on Hollywood. "We got ourselves a joker here. Are you a funny guy, Hollywood?"

Hollywood already looked like he was regretting speaking. "Sir, this corporal has been known to joke, sir."

Duke smiled—which would have been reassuring had the expression not looked so obviously…_off_. "Well, Hollywood, whatever it was that's put Sergeant Major Beach Head temporarily out of commission, do you think you're ready to deal with it when it finds its way here?"

Hollywood, who would never have presumed to declare that he was tougher than something that could have taken down Beach Head, said nothing.

"No?" Duke's blue eyes twinkled, like frost patterns on glass. "Well, then, let's get on that, shall we?" Turning smartly, he roared, "Start running, hot shots, and the slower you get back here, the sorrier you'll be. When the sorriest one of you gets back here he can drop and give me fifty, and if the rest of you aren't done giving me twenty-five before that, you can join him."

Kate and Whip exchanged surprised, pleased eyebrow raises—this didn't seem like anything they couldn't handle. The morning appeared to be looking up—not only were they getting a brief respite from Beach Head, it was sort of cool for them to see their commanding officer stride across the parade ground like Captain America, his strong jaw set determinedly as he appraised them with blue steel eyes.

Fifteen minutes later, every single greenshirt there was wishing Beach Head was back in charge.

* * *

><p><em>Long after other teenagers had outgrown hide-and-seek, sixteen-year-old Shana O'Hara still loved to play. <em>

_Now she moved like a shadow through the big, empty room, her bare feet silent on the padded floor, the seeker. She was careful to regulate her breathing, refusing to let her adrenaline escalate her respiration to a hoarse pant that might alert a hidden opponent to her presence. She made sure to tread with caution so that the swish of her cotton workout pants wouldn't give her position away._

_And when her opponent leaped out from behind one of the padded support poles in the dojo with a battle yell, she was ready for him. _

_She laughed as she swung one arm around to block Sean's lunge punch, following up with a punch of her own to his ribs. While he was put off-balance, Shana stepped gracefully behind him and dropped him with a chop to the back of his neck. "Pro tip, Sean—if you're trying to sneak up on someone it helps not to yell!"_

_If Brian thought she didn't see him about to grab her from behind, he was in for a rude awakening—curling the fingers of one hand around her opposite fist, she slammed an elbow into her brother's solar plexus, knocking his wind out. Grabbing the arm Brian had stretched out to seize her with, Shana stepped beneath it and kicked her heel against his ankle, sweeping his leg at the same time she threw her weight against his shoulder, throwing him to the floor. _

_Frank knew better than to try and grab her; he went in high, trying for a roundhouse kick to her head. Momentarily appreciating her brother's wise decision not to treat her like a girl, Shana still wasn't willing to let him get in the hit—she spun to counter, chambering her knee high, then locking her leg out in a turnaround side kick that had Frank stumbling back, clutching his gut. _

_Shana smiled, but it wasn't time to celebrate just yet—her father hadn't even bothered to try and hide; he was waiting for her. The two O'Haras circled each other, teacher and student. Shana's eyes swept her opponent, trying to find a weak point, trying to divorce the idea of the man that had raised her from the idea of a man who would try and defeat her in battle. Finally she dropped her hands and chambered her foot, intending to simply drive a front kick to the center of mass._

_That hesitation—along with dropping her guard—would prove to be her downfall; she saw her father's eyes darken with disapproval, and then he spun like lightning, his leg snapping out in a hook kick. Even as his heel struck the side of her head, scrambling the signals to her brain and plunging her into a painful darkness, Shana knew her father had been holding back._

_She woke up on the floor, with a ring of faces looking down at her. Her brothers all looked similarly concerned, but her father was smiling, his expression gently affectionate. "You always did meet everything head-on."_

_Shana squeezed her eyes shut, partly in pain, but mostly in embarrassment. "I was overconfident. Thought I could go for the point."_

_Patrick O'Hara laughed, almost…sadly…and patted her hand affectionately. "No one will ever argue you're not one brave girl, Shana O'Hara."_

"_But it doesn't matter," Shana sighed, her strength ebbing away as she lay on the floor. "I didn't win."_

_Patrick O'Hara regarded his daughter evenly, the spark that had flashed just before he'd defeated her lighting his eyes once again. "You can't give up."_

_Shana frowned slightly. "What can I do?"_

"_Get up," he entreated, taking her hand in a comforting grip. This she knew well and welcomed; the familiar warm roughness of a hand that knew hard work. "I know you can do it. You've got to get up, Scarlett."_

_The use of the…nickname?...baffled her briefly; something in her recognized it, wanted to answer to it even as she realized it was out of place in this dojo. Still, the message was clear—get up—she had to. She gripped his hand, tried to pull herself to a sitting position, but it felt like something was holding her down. _

"_That's it. That's it…come on, soldier," her father repeated firmly, squeezing her hand. "Everyone's waiting for you, Scarlett..." _

_Again, the endearments struck a chord in her—like there was something she ought to be remembering—but she was distracted by her father letting go of her hand, his voice drifting further and further away from her as the room went dark around her once again. _

"_It wouldn't be very nice of you to break their hearts."_

* * *

><p>"Get out from <em>under<em> your opponent," Duke roared, demonstrating his point by pinning a struggling greenshirt with a scissor lock. "You think the Cobras are going to let you stop and take a breather? This is a real-life situation, so _act_ like it and _break his goddamned hold_."

The greenshirts wheezed and groaned, redoubling their efforts. They'd been mistaken to think that they'd gotten off easy with only three miles—they'd apparently run it too slowly for Duke and the number of punishment push-ups had increased with every muffled groan he'd overheard. They _had_ made decent time on the o-course—decent for greenshirts, anyway—but it was only because he'd been nipping at their heels the entire time, snarling his intense disappointment in them and letting them know that blind terror wouldn't spur them out of danger every time; they needed strength and skill and he'd be good god damned if he was going to be responsible for them dying in combat because they were too _slow _to do what they'd been trained to do.

By the time they'd gotten into the sand pit they were well and truly smoked, and Kate had flicked an apprehensive glance at the pugil sticks. But Duke had skipped the weapons entirely; he'd instructed half the group to lay prone and the other half to pin their partner, his unbalanced smirk incongruous with the friendly early morning light.

"You've been disarmed," he'd said by way of instruction to the group that was laying on the ground. "Your enemy is willing to do whatever is necessary to keep you down and keep you from getting to your weapon. You break his hold, he drops and gives me fifty sit-ups. He keeps you down for more than twenty seconds, you're giving me fifty. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the greenshirts had responded, their voices weakened by their prone positions.

But as they'd come to expect over the course of the morning, Duke wasn't quite finished. "Oh, and the _last_ one to break the hold gets to go up against me. And he'll be giving me fifty, trust me. That is," he added, "if he can still move. Clear?"

The greenshirts, who had apparently decided they were dealing with a madman, responded once more in the affirmative. "Sir, yes, sir!"

Naturally, they had not performed the exercise to his satisfaction, and he had made them repeat it four times, each time with a different opponent. By the time Kate had been pinned twice and pinned her opponent twice, she was dripping sweat and filthy, her black hair so caked with sand and grit that it looked dirty blonde. And even then, she was just grateful her slighter build made it easier to twist out of her opponents' grasp. The four greenshirts—three men and a woman—who'd been slow enough to have to grapple with Duke had inevitably ended up on the side of the sand pit, tiredly struggling through their fifty sit-ups.

Now they stood waiting as he folded his elbow around his latest opponent's throat, pressing his hand against his forearm to put pressure on the carotid artery. "How're you doing, Klimkowski?" he asked amiably. "Feel like giving me fifty?"

The greenshirt's face was red and he was struggling for air; he reaching a shaking arm forward, hand a claw, before banging it down on the sand twice to tap out.

Duke snorted, releasing him. "Get to it, then."

As Klimkowski staggered off to do his sit-ups, relearning how to breathe, Duke sighed, brushing dirt and grit off his fatigue pants as he stood up. "That. Was. _Pathetic_," he informed them, and many of the greenshirts blanched; even though he'd spent the morning tormenting them, they were more embarrassed by his tone—the exhausted disappointment of an older brother, rather than Beach Head's hard-boiled cynicism. "You guys are killing me. How in _hell_ am I supposed to send you out into the field like this? Cobra will be painting the walls with your brains and my arm'll fall off writing sympathy letters to your mommas. Push-ups. Push-ups till you stop humiliating yourselves."

The exhausted recruits bit back their groans as they reformed their lines and got into position. While having their C.O.'s favor meant a lot to a greenshirt, these were not normal circumstances, and they'd decided an hour ago that he'd lost his mind. When he smiled now, they knew they were in for it.

But the news appeared to be good. "Tell you what, hot shots," Duke drawled, swinging a foot around to wander languidly back to the other side of their formation while they remained in ready position, muscles twitching and aching. "I'll only make you do five. How does that sound?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" they roared in relief, still in ready position.

Duke continued pacing, holding up one finger. "All right. Five push-ups, my count. One!"

Every greenshirt there pushed up and down like a piston with a crisp, en masse response of "One_, sir_!"

Duke smiled at them, and the first tiny inkling of apprehension began to creep among them.

Reaching the end of his circuit, Duke turned back in the other direction, as though he had all the time in the world. "You know, it just occurred to me that I haven't gone over the uniform regs with you guys. I think now's as good a time as any. All right, listen up..."

And for the next several minutes, the merciless master sergeant recited mind-numbing, unnecessarily formally-worded uniform regulations that every single greenshirt there already knew, while they remained in push-up position, up on hands and feet, arms already beginning to shake.

When he reached the end of a particularly long-winded recitation on the proper wear of rucksacks, Duke stroked his chin in thought and then said, "All right, two."

The shout of "Two, _sir_!" was far weaker than the first count had been, but to their credit, the greenshirts stayed up. Even Duke seemed impressed. He cocked a blond brow and conceded, "Three."

"Three, _sir_!"

In the third row, Kate Jessop began to wobble.

Duke stopped his pacing to meander through the rows; breath could be heard being sucked in as he passed, and it was obvious that several of the beleaguered greenshirts tried to steady themselves when he got closer to them, but this was hardly a question of strength—lactic acid builds up in everyone's muscles, and he was putting them through a test they were doomed to fail. Kate squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, her C.O. was standing beside her, his head tilted in appraisal of her. She began shaking harder, partially due to the stress of the position, partially due to being under scrutiny.

Duke took a knee to put himself on her level, and when he spoke, his voice was maddeningly friendly. "Not going down, are you, Kelpie?"

Kate gritted her teeth; she hadn't known the first shirt even knew her code name. "Sir, no, sir."

Duke smiled, and while the expression might have been intended to look comforting, it ended up being somewhere between sadism and insanity. "Good. Because if you go down, it's fifty, up front with me. You're staying up, right, Kelpie?"

Kate's muscles were screaming for her to just drop, and a bead of sweat rolled down her nose. Her eyes were burning. "Sir, yes, sir."

"Good." Duke stood up and strode briskly back to the front of the formation, calling out, "Four."

"Four, _sir_!"

When he turned back to face them he was still smiling. "Did I ever tell you guys about the time that I had to fight Snake Eyes in the Arena of Sport?"

A few of the unlucky greenshirts were finally unable to hold back groans; Duke's smile became a grin.

* * *

><p>Beach Head had amended his opinion on the merits of playing hooky. Originally, he'd expected to be the laughingstock of the Pit, but by the time the third wave of filthy, exhausted greenshirts had come trickling into the sick bay, he knew he was going to come out of this smelling like a rose.<p>

Lifeline sucked his teeth playfully as he administered first aid, doling out ointment and bandages, muscle relaxers and analgesic rubs. His assurances that the greenshirts would be fine stopped just short of condescending, but he managed to resist the urge to refer to their injuries as "boo-boos". The most serious complaint was that Hollywood Hillman needed a few stitches—he'd been wrestled down to the ground during a grappling exercise and been dragged, snagging a loose rock and tearing his forearm open. The handsome corporal was already widely known as a cut-up, but he'd been completely cowed by the morning's maneuvers; he sat quietly while Lifeline disinfected the wound and administered a local before suturing.

Hillman was rarely seen without his partners-in-crime, and this morning was no exception. Whiplash O'Halloran, who, unlike Beach Head, could be trusted to administer his own first aid, was carefully cleaning and wrapping his own scrapes while he waited for his friend. All Kelpie Jessop had wanted was aspirin and a menthol rub; the water shook in the cup now as the muscles in her smoked arms twitched and jumped.

The sound of a deep belly-laugh drew everyone's attention to the nearby curtain; now Beach Head drew it back, his eyes twinkling as he assessed the greenshirts. They snapped to attention, and even Hollywood seemed to brighten. Lifeline steadied the corporal with a gentle hand. "Don't move, Hollywood. I'm not quite through yet."

"Sergeant Major!" Kelpie said, starting forward a step before halting herself. "How are you feeling?"

Beach Head narrowed his eyes at her, but he was visibly fighting a smirk. "Ah, I reckon I'll be back to whip you losers into shape soon enough. So don't get too comfy now, vacation's over, ya got that?"

The look on all three greenshirts' face was something Lifeline had expected, but still couldn't quite believe—relief. "Sir, yes, sir!" they responded crisply, and Whiplash O'Halloran went so far as to salute. Lifeline turned briefly to Beach Head in curiosity, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged, that smirk still threatening his face.

Lifeline affixed a butterfly bandage and clapped Hollywood on the shoulder. "You're all set. Try to stay out of trouble till tomorrow, would you three?"

They didn't need to be told twice—after a few muttered thank-yous the three greenshirts bolted as fast as their tired legs could carry them. Their muffled voices could be heard in the corridor, along with a cheerful inquiry of "_Ewwww_. What happened to _you_ three?"

The last Lifeline and Beach Head heard of the greenshirts were three exhausted groans, and then hurried footsteps as they made their escape. A minute later, Cover Girl stuck a strawberry blonde head into the room, peeking around the double doors she'd pushed open. "Room for one more? Looks like there's a party in here!"

Lifeline wasn't exactly frowning, but the expression on his face was trapped somewhere between exhaustion and irritation. "Welcome to the Hurricane Hauser Relief Center."

"What?" Cover Girl laughed in confusion. "I don't even know what that means, Lifeline. I was actually wondering if you've seen B—"

Before she could even finish the question, Lifeline pointed at the nearest cot with an annoyed jab of his finger.

Cover Girl's mouth bent again, this time in a slight _o_ of surprise as she took in the sight of the drill sergeant, who would normally do anything to stay _out_ of the sick bay, looking as relaxed and content as her family's old mastiff had while napping on the porch. One of Beach's ankles was bandaged and propped up, and he had a newspaper in his lap and a bottle of water in his hand as though the whole morning were his idea of a vacation.

"Mornin', Miss Cee Gee," he drawled pleasantly, leaving Cover Girl to wonder if Lifeline had medicated him. She'd had only one question five minutes ago, but the sight of him had raised at least half a dozen more. She decided to keep it simple and stick to the one she'd come in with. "Beach Head, what did you do to the greenshirts?" she asked. "They usually come out of P.T. ranting and raving about you, but today they don't even have enough energy for that. I just asked a few of them what happened and they just _groaned_. Can't you go a little easier on them?"

Beach Head put his water to one side, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. "Don't look at me, princess. Top Kick had 'em today."

Cover Girl's eyes went wide with disbelief; she glanced back at Lifeline, remembering something he'd said earlier. "Hurricane Hauser…_Duke_ did this? For Colton's sake, _why_?"

Beach Head leaned back on the hospital cot, pointing to his foot. "He did me a favor. I'm injured, ya see?"

Cover Girl frowned, hands on her hips. "Oh, bullshit, Beach. I've seen you crawl out of a foxhole with a slug in you and tell everyone else they were running too slowly. And you don't think anyone can run P.T. better than you can. What reason could you possibly have to let Duke drill the greenshirts? It doesn't seem like it helped them any—more like it was _worse_!"

"I didn't do it for them," Beach Head said simply. "Did it for Duke; he needed it."

The exchange was interrupted by another groan, and the door swung inward slightly to reveal a hollow-eyed brunette with a close-cropped haircut—Wendy "Wendigo" Hagan, who'd earned her code name by being one of the few greenshirts to solve a complicated simulation scenario with a strategy based on potentially using the corpses of dead opponents as emergency rations. Despite this—or maybe because of it—she was always among the first picked for team exercises. Although no one currently standing in the room was aware of it, she'd also been one of the unlucky greenshirts who had been forced to grapple with Duke, and he'd ensured her eventual presence in sick bay with a punishing submission hold. "Did everyone else take all the aspirin?" Wendigo groaned, leaning heavily on the door.

Lifeline sighed, turning to open a cabinet while Beach Head chuckled audibly in his cot. "Come on in, Wendigo. You're in luck; I've still got a few left."

"Well, if we run out before Buckeye and Scud come in, tell them I was here first," the harried greenshirt demanded. "I need it more than they do."

Cover Girl repeated to no one in particular, "What the hemorrhaging hell happened this morning?" and was ignored.

Lifeline rarely used vulgar language, but a familiar obscenity almost escaped him as he rummaged through his dwindling supplies, finally settling on a mutter of "Goddamn Duke," before finding a bottle of aspirin whose _chicka-chicka_ was the too-loud sound of a mostly empty bottle when he shook it. Giving Wendigo a concerned look, he asked, "How many more do you think are coming down?"

"All of 'em, I think," Wendigo replied miserably, tramping further into the room and favoring her right leg. Lifeline frowned at the dirt and muck all the greenshirts had been tracking into his sick bay in the last hour; he was going to need to mop once everyone was squared away.

"Well, I can definitely take care of you, although I think I might need...Cover Girl!" Struck by happy inspiration, he turned to that blonde and gestured. "Give me that pad over there."

Cover Girl obliged, angling a concerned glance of her own at Wendigo as the greenshirt allowed herself to collapse into a plastic chair. Lifeline scribbled a note, then searched among the rubble of first-aid paraphernalia on the nearest counter for his stamp. Slamming it down onto the pad, he tore the top page off and handed that to Cover Girl, saying, "Take this down to the quartermaster and bring back the things I wrote down, would you please, Cover Girl? I didn't write amounts, but just bring..._more_," he finished vaguely. "Bring..._enough_."

"Happy to," Cover Girl said, arching an elegant brow and taking the page of supplies even though she had absolutely no idea what constituted "more" or "enough", especially when the words had been spoken in such an ominous tone. She even added an emphasized vague term of her own as she turned to exit in a swirl of strawberry blonde hair. "Looks like you guys are going to need _plenty_, since Duke has apparently gone insane."

"He ain't insane," Beach Head called after her matter-of-factly, speaking for the first time since Wendigo had come in, but Cover Girl was already gone; Lifeline doled out what little aspirin he had left to the exhausted greenshirt and sent her on her way as well.

Beach Head settled back down onto the cot, ready to continue the morning's charade, hoping that what little help he'd been able to offer would come in handy. The drill sergeant almost smiled at the idea of the greenshirts wobbling on their pins while Duke strode up and down the ranks, bellowing at them. He wished he'd been there to see it—judging by the whipped expressions on the greenshirts' faces and the soreness that was evident in their stuttering steps and weary stances, the master sergeant had put on a hell of a show.

Lacing his hands behind his head, the drill sergeant sighed, looking at the ceiling. He'd meant what he'd said to Cover Girl, but he could hardly blame her for being mistaken. Duke wasn't insane—he was in love, although Beach Head swore up and down there wasn't a difference between the two.

* * *

><p>Duke would have been the first to admit that he wasn't the greatest with sign language. He knew enough to understand Snake Eyes most of the time, and there was nothing wrong with the commando's hearing, so they had little to no trouble communicating when necessary. Still, the master sergeant saw enough of the same signs repeated that he'd picked up some new ones along the way just out of habit.<p>

Such was the way he learned the latest sign Snake Eyes had been giving, over and over, every time he and his C.O. crossed paths. Duke felt he'd seen this sign enough already to last the rest of his life, and every time it was more unwelcome than it had been before.

Aside from the morning's P.T. and a well-deserved shower, Duke had spent the majority of the day in his office. Officially, the reason was that he was catching up on paperwork regarding the street crime detail; unofficially, he was hiding out from the rest of the team. The unanimous topic of conversation for the last two days had been Scarlett's condition, and everyone who had heard about what had happened was leaping over themselves to give him updates or express their optimism that she'd pull out of it just fine. That he could deal with, but not the expressions on their faces. He knew every Joe who regularly heard him and Scarlett bantering (or, in some cases, arguing) was looking for a reason to read into it, and he was used to their curious gazes following him around, waiting for him to crack, to betray something, anything to give credence to whatever theory they had. He could handle all that; he knew how to keep his business to himself. But since Scarlett had collapsed into his arms in the corridor, there was a new light in their eyes, a softening of voices when they assured him she'd be fine, just fine, they knew she would.

He could have withstood anything except sympathy.

Straining under their pitying gazes, he'd retreated to his office and tried to focus on the street crime paperwork, but having to see it there in black and white—_Upon returning to base, Scarlett experienced complications from smoke inhalation and was admitted to medical. Condition listed as critical_—was the opposite of helpful.

Lady Jaye's eyes especially had been tracking his every move, and if it hadn't been for the shadows beneath them, Duke would have instructed her to stop watching him like he was a ledge jumper. He knew she was worried, too, and as Flint had already surmised, she was likely blaming herself for not insisting Scarlett be examined by the paramedics. Duke himself knew better—no one made Scarlett do anything she didn't want to do.

More than anything else, it was that thought that actually comforted him—she'd chosen, every step of the way. She'd chosen to enter that building, chosen to let the children receive care before her. Being a Joe, taking these missions, living this life—these were all _her_ choices.

And when she assured him all systems were go, that was her choice, too.

Despite himself, he smiled slightly as he looked over his reports once more, reading the Joes' accounts of Scarlett's brave dash into the burning building. _If this has to be it, Red, it's a hell of a swan song_, he thought as he traced her code name with an index finger, the ink smudging beneath his touch. _Insubordinate, reckless…and free to the goddamned last._

Turning his chair away from the desk, he rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes wearily. When he opened them, there was the familiar shadow in his doorway.

There was no need for a greeting. Once Snake Eyes knew he had the master sergeant's attention, he held up his thumb, index and middle fingers and pinched the air towards his ear, then curled his hands into loose fists, one atop the other, knuckles touching. Finally he turned his hands so his left fist went from being beneath his right to being above it. The message completed, he vanished from the doorway. That was all, but it was enough.

Duke leaned back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers over his abdomen idly. His report lay on his desk, his eyes getting stuck on the same phrase over and over again.

_Condition listed as critical._

He closed his eyes to make it disappear, but behind his lids he saw that same pinch of air that Snake had repeated every time he'd stopped by, the same turn of fists. A sign he hadn't known a few days ago and knew all too well now.

{_No change._}

* * *

><p>During the night, while Joe and greenshirt alike tossed and turned in their bunks—each for different reasons—Scarlett dreamed. Not of fire, but of water.<p>

_In the dream, she was swimming in an aquarium. Her BDUs seemed rather drab and out of place in the jewel-blue, tropically warm water. Cheerfully colored plants waved up at her from the gravel that lined the bottom of the tank; the only brightness that came from her was the water reflecting merrily off her breastplate and her hair swishing in slow-motion along with the current. She turned a somersault, feeling suddenly playful, enjoying the way the water made her weightless. _

_But there was motion and color and noise outside her little watery world, faces she recognized looking in at her through the glass. Their voices were far away and muffled and she could see their mouths shaping her name, __**Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett…**_

_Her heartbeat quickened when she saw their faces—yes, these were her friends. Now they were all together and could go back to the Pit. She reached out for them, but her fingers met cool glass beyond which her comrades were waiting. Scarlett frowned, pushing at the barrier, running her fingertips across the chilled surface looking for an opening, but there was none. _

"_Scarlett?" Lady Jaye was calling her, the water and glass warping her face like a funhouse mirror. "Scarlett? Can you hear me?" The bright lights outside the aquarium blazed a halo around Snake Eyes' unreadable mask. His hands were against the glass, pushing furiously, but the commando's considerable strength was failing him now; there was no way through._

_Scarlett placed her palm against Snake's, spreading her fingers against his on her side of the glass. __**Don't worry about me**__, she thought idly, saddened by his obvious frustration. __**It's not your fault. I'm going to be all right.**__ She made a circle with her fingers, then held her middle finger straight out and her index finger straight up, the rest of her fingers curled into her hand._

"_She's trying to sign," Lady Jaye said. "What is it, Scarlett? What?"_

_Scarlett repeated the sign—{__**OK**__}—but they didn't seem comforted by it. Their frightened faces ran like watercolors in her vision and she began to feel dizzy, glancing from Lady Jaye to Snake Eyes and back again before a flash of blond over blue came into focus at the glass before her, and Duke's hands slammed against the glass hard enough that the water shivered around her. _

"_She can't breathe," he said. "Give me some room."_

_He laced his fingers together, pressed hard against the glass, but it didn't budge, and as Scarlett watched in confusion, he pressed a kiss to the glass on his side._

_Scarlett felt a sharp pang in her chest at the gesture, trying to force her way through the barrier harder than ever as she attempted to return his kiss, brushing her lips against her side of the tank and feeling nothing but the chill of glass and water on her side. Oh, it would be better if they could reach each other…_

_Duke pushed at the glass again, tried another one-sided kiss. Scarlett reached out and met the cold barrier again, saddened and infuriated by the uncaring span of the glass between them. The expression on Duke's face was heartbreaking, and his voice was a growl of pain._

"_Goddamnit, __**come**__ on, Shana," he called as he laced his fingers once more. Ordered as he tried to push through to her. Pleaded when he couldn't reach her. "Come on, honey, open your eyes."_

_The need to respond—to tell him—was stronger than she'd ever felt it before, but opening her mouth to speak would let the water rush in, and dimly she knew that that would end badly. _

_But they all looked so sad…__**he**__ looked so scared. She didn't want to be underwater anymore; she wanted to be with her team, who were calling her, who needed her. She needed them, needed __**him**__, like..._

_...air._

_She knew there was a way to tell him so, something that would make no sense to anyone—anyone but him—but it wasn't enough somehow. There was still that icy, unyielding wall between them, and words weren't good enough this time. She had to tell him—__**show**__ him._

_Glancing down, she saw the way—her crossbow, camouflaged artfully by the smooth stones on the bottom of the fishbowl that had become her prison. Rolling gracefully in the water, she seized it and kicked back from the glass, sighting down on the hateful barrier that was keeping her away from her team—from her partner. _

_"Duke!" she called as she pulled the trigger, uncaring of the water that filled her mouth, her lungs, stole her breath. "I l—"_

_The glass shattered._

And just like that she surfaced, breaking through to light so dazzling tears were already coursing down her cheeks. Her ears were ringing with the echoes of breaking glass, the air burned and there was something alien and awful in her throat that rendered her speechless. But she tried anyway, eyes wide open for the first time in days, lips moving soundlessly around the words that the dream had stolen away.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**On sparring:** Scarlett's first dream sequence contains elements from the Sunbow episode _Captives of Cobra_ and my own experience with sparring (it's not my favorite thing; I'm well-known for being strong and tenacious—one of my instructors threw me in the ring with the black belts tonight saying, "She always likes a challenge", and that _is_ true—but I am smaller than all of my sparring partners except one, and I _always_ come out of it with injuries). This same instructor, impatient with my hesitation to attack him, once knocked me out with exactly the same move that Patrick O'Hara uses to take his daughter down in her dream.

**Greek Row: **I was a GDI in college (although I did go to plenty of Greek Row parties), so I can't speak to actually having been through sorority hazing. However, the stories about the **goose-beatings** and the **goldfish** are absolutely true—the fraternity who broke the goose's neck were of course discovered (it was an accident, but still, that's a sick, stupid thing to do to a defenseless goose) and had their charter revoked, if I remember correctly. The goldfish thing was from a different school, and my friend is the one who blindfolded the pledges and tricked them into thinking they were eating their pet goldfishes. Yes, she is a terrible person. (I had a goldfish named **Cosmo** back in the police academy; he was named after the silly, empty-headed fairy of that same name from Butch Hartman's adorable cartoon, _The Fairly Oddparents,_ who would disguise himself as a goldfish to hide in the room of his fairy godchild, Timmy Turner.)

**Rodan:** Hollywood makes a reference to **Rodan**, the fictional mutated pterosaur that fights Godzilla, implying that only a monster could take down Beach Head.

**On wrecked cars on an o-course:** Every summer, my sister and I and some friends of ours run an o-course at Floyd Bennett Field. Every year I wait impatiently for the wrecked cars they're constantly threatening as obstacles, but so far they haven't shown up yet. I figured Beach Head might like the idea too. Talking of which…

**On P.T.:** Beach Head trying to push Duke on the morning run as well as Duke's running the greenshirts ragged during P.T. contains elements of _Classic G.I. Joe #82_. The grappling exercise he subjects them to is also something my own senseis have made us do. Also, the "I'll only make you do five push-ups" bit is absolutely a true story—one of my very own sergeants pulled that nightmare on us in the police academy during P.T. Till the day I close my weary eyes forever, I'll never forget his smile that day *chuckles*

Which leads me to what was easily the most fun part of this chapter, something I like to call **The Greenshirt Appendix** *smiles*. All greenshirts contained in this chapter are entirely my own creation, so if you don't like them, don't blame them—it's my memories they're frankensteined together from. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. By order of appearance, here they are:

**Katherine (Kate) "Kelpie" Jessop **is an amalgam of a girl I knew who, literally, ran away and joined the Navy because the job we were working was so incredibly terrible (this was at the very beginning of the recession). I never knew what became of her, but I hope she ended up like the sailors I knew and had worked with years before, doing their refresher training at our Academy, who were the rest of the inspiration for Kate, along with my own experience there doing the lifeboating and rescue classes—in the event your lifeboat deploys upside down, it takes quite a bit of strength and leverage for a small person to try and flip it over to climb inside, and I pictured Kate doing what I did, which was climbing on the shoulders of her mates to help them up once she was inside. A **kelpie, **or water horse, is a Scottish water spirit who drowns unlucky seafarers.

**Sean "Hollywood" Hillman**'s last name is a reference to the Stephen King novel **_The Tommyknockers_**_, _specifically the character of **Hillman Brown**, who is so desperate to get his little brother Davey home safe that he first promises Davey he can have "all the G.I. Joes, except for maybe Snake-Eyes and Crystal Ball", then escalates in fear to "all the G.I. Joes, forever, even the MOBAT and the Terrordrome". (Snake Eyes—too cool to loan to anybody since 1984.) He's based on a guy I study taijitsu with, whose eyes I have never seen because he always wears his shades, which in turn reminds me of a guy from the neighborhood I knew when I was younger who was always just called "Hollywood" for that same reason. To this day, I don't think anyone actually knew Hollywood's real name.

**Jake "Whiplash" O'Halloran** is based loosely on a guy I knew who had a heart of gold and a ball bearing in his ankle. He could drive anything on wheels and had an artificial leg, which was what made his driving skill so awesome—he could have smoked the devil himself in a drag race, with or without his prosthetic leg (he sometimes took it off to drive because it was uncomfortable). But Whip's based on a _lot_ of the cool guys I know, good, hardworking guys who simply want to do their best and be their best. I'm a sucker for a Steve Rogers type, and let me tell you, I'm lucky to have so many of them in my life. Whiplash has the sort of personality that made me shy in high school and the kind that I eventually fell in love with.

**Wendy "Wendigo" Hagan** was originally not supposed to show up for muster in this story, but Colton willing and the creek don't rise, she may yet show up at a later time, along with her buddies **Scud** and **Buckeye**, who even I don't know all that much about. A **wendigo **is a demon in Algonquin legends that used to scare the hell out of me when I was a kitt. They are sometimes described as wind demons, but all the stories agree that they are cannibals. No wonder everyone wants Wendy on _their_ team and not against them!

Coming around the clubhouse turn now *smiles* The next chapter may even be enough to wrap all this up. It's _so_ much fun to be writing down stories for the Joes again!


	10. Changes You're Making To The State

**Author's Introduction:**

I really thought Chapter 10 was going to be the end of the story.

It isn't, though.

: )

* * *

><p><span><strong>Breathless<strong>

_A G.I. Joe story by Firestar9mm_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter Ten: Changes You're Making To The State Of Affairs<strong>

_Time stands  
>I open your eyes to my world<br>I see you come out of it all unharmed and unscathed  
>And shouting<br>Come on in  
>In houses I live in<br>And changes you're making  
>To the state of affairs<em>

_Calling "where is my boy?"  
><em>_I have seen you so often  
><em>_I cry "Where is my boy?"  
><em>_Oh, have you all forgotten?_

**(Coldplay, **_**Where Is My Boy?**_**)**

* * *

><p>Lady Jaye had known from the beginning what it had taken Beach Head months to figure out—Duke always ran with Scarlett when he was able to. <em>Unlike<em> Beach Head, however, Jaye hadn't wasted much time thinking about it; before this, she had simply accepted it as a completely natural aspect of life in the Pit, like Roadblock's tendency to speak in rhyme, or Polly.

So early this morning, when a knock at Duke's office door had gone unanswered and a cursory search of the officers' quarters had yielded nothing, Lady Jaye found herself an unwitting observer to an ongoing ritual between Duke and Beach Head that had evolved over the course of the master sergeant's sporadic workouts with the maniac drill sergeant.

When the corporal happened upon the two men at the beginning of the o-course, they were preparing their packs—the pissing contest between the two had graduated from running with full packs a long time ago and had mutated into something the Joes jokingly referred to as "jarhead chicken".

"I'll see yer crescent wrenches, Top, an' raise ya this." The drill sergeant grinned as he displayed a ten-pound dumbbell and shoved it into his pack. According to Ace, who currently had a pool running as to which of the two men would injure themselves playing this game first, the objects were selected not simply based on their weight by how cumbersome they were to carry. Lady Jaye thought the whole thing was idiotic, as well as being unsafe, but as a Joe she understood the need to blow off steam however, whenever possible.

And she understood her field commander's current need for a defeatable opponent.

Appraising the dumbbell, Duke treated Beach Head to a withering glare. "Only ten pounds, Beach? You must have stolen that from Cover Girl's bunk." Smirking, he yanked his pack open to reveal a loud, orange marble-swirled monstrosity that Lady Jaye recognized as Shipwreck's fifteen-pound bowling ball.

Unable to help herself, Jaye arched a brow. Everyone _had_ been wondering why Duke had asked to borrow that.

Beach Head sneered. "Joke's on you, Duke. When ya die out there in th' heat tryin' ta keep up with me, I ain't explainin' to th' medical team why yer carryin' that ugly thing."

"Ugly, yes. Heavy, no," Duke boasted, shouldering his pack with a barely perceptible wince. "Are you ready, or don't you think you can keep pace with me?"

Lady Jaye made a mental note to warn the motor pool against lending any tires to Duke or Beach Head, should they ask. Clutch would be only too happy to oblige, and then there would be two blowhards in the infirmary with hernias. Deciding to interrupt before one of them found a cinder block, she strode forward to make her presence known. Beach Head grinned. "Joinin' us, Jaye? We'll spot ya a steel-toed boot an' a saucepan."

"No, thanks, I just got my spine the way I like it," Jaye said with a saucy smile for the drill sergeant. "Duke, I need you to come with me to—"

Duke didn't let her finish; he snapped to attention instantaneously, eyes sharpening; the corporal could practically see the gears turning in the field commander's head as he checked an instinctive urge to bolt. And Jaye knew exactly where he'd bolt to.

"What's happened?" Duke barked, slinging his pack down to the ground, where it landed with a jarring _thud_ and a _clank_ as its contents shifted—it sounded like there was more in there than just Shipwreck's bowling ball and a set of wrenches that Clutch would be looking for later. "Is Scarlett awake? Why are you here? Is Scarlett all right?"

Lady Jaye put both hands out as though she were soothing an advancing predator. "I haven't heard anything about Scarlett. I'm here because D.I.'s got a candidate for the—you know—and Hawk wants us there on the double to conduct an interview.

"Oh—right. Of course." Duke took a deep breath and blew half of it out, as though he weren't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed. Lady Jaye knew that feeling—Scarlett's coma could hardly be seen as anything other than a tragedy, but as long as she slept, there was always half a chance she'd wake up. The alternative…

No one wanted to think about that.

To Duke's credit, he composed himself quickly and made a show of sending off his running companion with a brotherly slap on the back. "Go on without me, Beach. I'll catch up."

The burly drill sergeant smirked, not fooled. "No, you won't, Top. Understood." Turning, Beach Head set off at a steady clip, whistling a military cadence to prove he wasn't breathing hard.

Duke frowned at the bigger man as he jogged off, but he didn't look back as he followed Lady Jaye back into the Pit. He sighed through his nose. "Erm…sorry about that, Jaye. Guess I'm a bit on edge these days."

Clamping her lips together in sympathy for her friend, Lady Jaye dared to put a comforting hand on his arm. "I wish I had better news, Conrad."

To her surprise, he didn't shrug her off, treating her to a wan smile. "I'll take no news before bad news."

Giving his muscular bicep a squeeze, she tried to smile back. "Come on. Let's go scare the hell out of Domestic Intelligence."

It worked; Duke managed a small chuckle—but neither he nor Jaye had any idea who was about to scare who.

* * *

><p>One of the first lessons Timber had learned when he had come to the Pit was that A Good Joe Always Completes Their Mission.<p>

Right now, his Mission was simple—and serious.

Once again, the wolf was guarding a door, only this time, it was the door to the injury-cave where Scarlett lay, not the door to the Pack Leader's den. While he treated this new duty with the same severity he had the earlier one, his heart was far lighter knowing the brief struggle between the Master and the Pack Leader appeared to be resolved.

When the Pack Leader had happened upon Timber in the place where the Joes did the play-fighting and lifted the metal tree branches and the metal stones to make themselves stronger, the wolf had known that Duke was hunting the Master. When the Master told him, with signs, to Sit by the entrance to the Pack Leader's den and Stay, Timber knew the Master was also on the hunt. The wolf had briefly wondered if the Master was trying to become Pack Leader, and the thought brought a number of conflicting feelings upon him. At first he was disappointed that he might not be allowed to be present at such an ascension, for his pride in his Master's strength and courage was ferocious. But it upset him to think of the aftermath of such a battle—of the Pack Leader lying in a widening pool of his own blood, throat slashed. The Pack Leader was not his Master—no one could be, nor could he love anyone as well as he loved the Master—but Duke was Alpha, and kind; quick to offer his paws in friendship and always ready to defend his pack members against Bad Things. It was disquieting to think of the pack without him; even with Timber's beloved Master at the front of it, the change would feel like running on loose shale, the earth shifting unpredictably under all their paws.

Even more upsetting was the next image his mind presented—Scarlett kneeling at the side of their fallen Pack Leader, her paws over her face in anguish. While Duke did not get into the same dominance fights that Flint was so eager to engage in when anyone sniffed at the Lady Jaye, Timber had seen the way the Pack Leader's wintry eyes thawed when Scarlett smiled at him, had seen the fond way they nuzzled each other when they believed they were alone. Just as the signs of mating were obvious to the wolf, so too was he aware of Sadness—he could sense it in the Master at times, and it seemed to be spreading its dark fingers to touch all his Joes ever since they had returned from their Mission in the big stone and iron forest they called City. He had tasted the bitter tang of Sadness in the air as he had helped Snake Eyes wrap his poor broken paws not so long ago. He saw it dog the Pack Leader's weary steps as he paced the Pit back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Its passing was obvious in the shadows that cloaked the beautiful face of the Lady Jaye.

He was acquainted with Sadness, although he had not known its name until much later, until the Joes had given him, in their two-legs language, the word for what had happened before the Pit, before the Joe-pack, before the Master.

His memories of that time were the word that pretty yellow-furred Cover Girl often affectionately called him—Fuzzy. He remembered the warmth of his Mother, remembered Milk and the rough side of a tongue soothing him as he had learned the boundaries of his small dark home. He remembered the small wiggly bodies of other pups against him, tumbling and playing in a manner that would mature into the hunting tactics he currently used in his travels with his Joes. He could remember other, bigger wolves coming, licking at their faces with a tiny, pleading tongue so they would share the half-digested food that would give life and sate hunger when Milk had stopped flowing from the breast of his Mother.

But that time was short, and difficult to remember. Bigger wolves had stopped coming, and soon were never to be seen again, their lives claimed by the fiercest enemy Timber had encountered in his young life—Hunger. The Wild was a dangerous world at any time, riddled with traps and snares set by Human and Nature alike, but any animal is at its most ferocious when the desperation of Hunger drives it on. The bigger wolves in his pack would meet their ends at the claws and teeth of other predators competing for the scarce supply of food, or they would simply stop running, their paws deadened by fatigue, laying still until their eyes closed for good. Timber's brothers and sisters had begun to lack the energy to romp and play with him, and soon he himself had become too tired to nudge them with his nose or roll them with his tiny paw. Hunger had first nipped at his belly, then had settled into a constant, gnawing rhythm that only sleep would keep at bay. Even now, Timber could remember the feeling of his Mother's bones, too pronounced through her fur right about the time he was getting too big to snuggle close to her side.

Sometimes he would wake and realize one of his siblings was gone; he searched for them at first with the clumsy stumbling steps of fatigue, then had eventually come to learn that he would see them no more. His mourning and confusion at this had been cramped by the Hunger that seemed determined to claim him too. Eventually (he had had no concept of Time and he still had trouble keeping track of it, even now) only one alpha male had remained, and it was the wolf he had come to know as Father; by luck or tenacity Timber was the only pup who had survived to be big enough to accompany his Father and Mother on their hunting expeditions.

It was on one of these fateful trips that he first learnt of Sadness, a trip which three wolves had embarked on and only two had returned from. Their tiny pack had found Food, but they were not to enjoy their victory-to this day he remembered his first glimpse of the bear, the unsettling recognition of the wrongness of that sight as the bigger animal advanced to steal their kill from them, driven by that great desperate enemy, _Hunger_. And when the swipe of the lumbering goliath's claws had gashed the throat of his Mother he did not come to know the bear as the winner of the fight. _Hunger_ had won that day, had torn the life from his Mother even as Father had savagely used the desperate beast's distraction to slash with his fangs, creating an opening for young Timber to run.

And run he had, spurred by instinct and knowing that he was not big or strong enough to defend their kill from the usurper; Father had followed soon after, glancing behind with a turn of the head as though Mother would come trotting after just as she usually did. Hunger's usual gnaw at Timber's belly had been replaced by a worse feeling, a deeper sting of teeth in his gut that made the minutes she did not appear seem to stretch longer and longer. Despite it being foolish to linger nearby when the bear might decide to continue its hunt after feasting on the kill it had stolen from them, Father had searched with eyes and nose as long as he dared, but there was no sign of her. Eventually they had returned to the den, and Timber had held some idea that she might have gone on ahead of them, escaped the claws and teeth of the giant somehow, but it was emptier than it had ever been, the scent of her already fading.

Timber had not truly understood the loss of the other Pack Members or his tiny brothers and sisters; they had been strangers who had left his life long before he would come to be fully acquainted with them, but this was different—_Mother_ was different. Mother had given Milk, had given warmth and life, and he had had far more time to understand her importance in his universe. And when the Alpha Male—Father—had lifted his head to the dark blue sky and howled his mournful understanding of being only half of a whole, Timber knew his Mother would not be coming on any hunts anymore, that her Hunger had stopped and she had stopped running for good. He had raised his small muzzle to the night and added his voice to the Alpha's, greeting Sadness for the first time.

And this was no different, he was realizing. The Pack Leader, the Master, the Lady Jaye—they were all searching with troubled eyes, all lifting their heads to scent the air and waiting expectantly for Scarlett to return to them. Such were the bonds of Pack, and deeper still was the bond between an Alpha Male and an Alpha Female. Should the Pack Leader fall in battle and stop running, Timber knew that Scarlett would be Very Sad Indeed, her strong voice raised in that same mourning howl. Timber did not relish that thought, and he was sure that the Master, despite his superior strength and skill, would die before visiting Sadness on Scarlett.

Thus, the equilibrium between the Alpha Males seemed to have been restored, which would have relieved Timber save for one thing-Scarlett still slept in the injury-cave, quiet and still with the funny-smelling plastic vines winding around her. Which was why the Master had given him this all-important Mission—Scarlett was alone right now, life and death dueling for the right to claim her, and neither the Master nor the Pack Leader could be there to protect her in the meantime.

He, Timber, would stand guard.

The healers had made a Very Big Deal about no one disturbing Scarlett while she slept, but Timber had his orders, and an order from the Master superseded all others. He made sure not to be a nuisance by doing the thing the Pack Leader called "Patrol", pacing from the injury-cave out to the corridor and back again, making sure he was always nearby in case Scarlett needed him. And it was the right course of action—it was on one of these circuits that Timber happened to be walking straight into the injury-cave just as Scarlett surged up from her near-death sleep, a strangled sound of alarm bleating over the noise of Doc's machines.

Timber was startled at first, but only at first; he'd braced his paws on the slick tile floor, unsure of whether to take himself out of the range of Scarlett's paws, which were striking desperately at the air as though she were battling an unseen enemy. Her tangled red fur whipped back and forth with her movements as she assessed her surroundings, lifting her paws to her throat, chest heaving with her attempt to breathe normally. When her questing paws met the tube in her mouth, her eyes went wide with distress, and she whimpered, a high, keening note of pain that made Timber's hackles rise.

It was very unlike Scarlett to cringe—Timber had seen her lead a frontal assault against Cobras with no weapons save her paws and her courage-but as he watched, a single drop of rain fell from the blue sky in her eyes. Although she tried to hide it, Timber had seen the rain fall from Scarlett's eyes before, usually when other Joes—the Pack Leader or the Master especially—were hurt or imprisoned away from the pack. The wolf felt confused as to his next course of action; he did not want to leave her alone while she was so obviously unhappy and in pain, but he knew he had to fetch the healers for her—Doc and the gentle-voiced, eye-shielded healer they called Lifeline. They would make her better—soon she would be strong enough to play-fight with the Master and run with the Pack Leader again; the wolf thumped his tail happily on the floor just thinking of it.

And now that she was awake, the Joes would come to her—the Master would come and put his strong paws on Scarlett's paws; the single watchful eye in his face-armor would look out for her, and Bad Things dared not challenge the strength of the Master. The Lady Jaye would come and put her paws around Scarlett, the thing the Joes called "hug", soothing with her gentle voice. And the Pack Leader would come—Timber was sure the Pack Leader would _fly_ to his beloved Scarlett, would nuzzle her as fondly as he did when they were alone and tuck her against his strong shoulder until the rain stopped falling in her eyes.

Scarlett's thick fringe of lashes pressed down on her pale cheek as her shoulders shook. Another raindrop zigzagged down her face, and Timber pawed nervously at the floor. For the first time, the wolf felt that he shared a heart with the Master; it was intensely frustrating that he had no voice with which to comfort Scarlett, to tell her he would return as fast as the lightning with the healers for her. She whined softly, the raindrops dripping faster onto the blankets that covered her, and Timber could bear to watch no longer.

Doc had said No Jumping, but Scarlett needed him; Timber braced both paws against the metal guardrail and thrust his head close to hers, being careful of the tubes that snaked around the red-furred Joe. Scarlett's paws went around him, stroking, clutching him, and he felt her shaking. Carefully, Timber licked at the rain on her face, tasted the distant seashore as he did the thing the Pack Leader called "kiss". He touched his paw carefully to hers, trying to copy the way he'd seen the Master put his paw on Scarlett's. She could not tell him where she hurt so he could lick it better, but he could not leave her like this, not with the rain falling harder from her eyes and no one else to stay with her...

The answer came to Timber like the lightning that jumped down to the earth during the storms. Scarlett had no voice today, just like the Master. But _Timber_ could speak—he could call them for her!

Pressing his nose to her cheek, he gave her another Kiss, then put all four paws back on the floor. He raced out into the mouth of the little injury-cave, his paws slipping and claws clicking on the slick floor. He gave Scarlett what he hoped was a reassuring look, then lifted his head and howled, as loudly as he dared.

The sound bounced back painfully in the enclosed room. Scarlett cringed, curling up beneath her blankets. Timber did not like the idea that he was adding to her discomfort, but this was the fastest way he could think of to summon help. If only someone would hear...desperately, the wolf howled again.

"Keep it down out there!" a gruff voice barked right back—not from the corridor, but from the interior of the injury-cave itself. A rattling sound drew Timber's attention to the hanging skin that the healers used to keep the little beds private from one another; it drew back now, revealing who he'd disturbed.

It was the green-faced Joe, the one they called Beach Head. He was not wearing his green face-covering and his dark fur, normally hidden, was mussed from sleep, but Timber knew it was him for a few reasons—the burly drill sergeant always smelled a bit like sweat and dirt, which was no surprise considering his domain was the sandy, muddy place where the Joes tested their physical skills. And there was no mistaking the steely glare of Beach Head's eyes, which bored out of the green face-shield most days and were no less piercing this night.

Excited that his plan had worked, Timber gave a shorter, higher-pitched yelp, and Beach Head frowned. "I said keep it down!" he ordered, but Timber simply set his teeth in the green-faced Joe's pant leg and pulled.

"Hey, leggo, you mangy…"

Timber knew that "mangy" was not a nice word, but he ignored it and pulled harder.

A squeal from across the room interrupted the tug-of-war between drill sergeant and wolf; Scarlett had begun to pull restlessly at the clamps and suckers attached to her and the birds in the boxes next to her bed trilled their displeasure at her defiance. All the tension abruptly went out of Beach Head's stance; he straightened, blinking in surprise. "Well, shit," he said matter-of-factly, and Scarlett blinked wet eyes at him, lashes starred together from moisture.

"Don't move, Red," Beach Head said, forgetting Timber entirely and walking over to the little bed. His tone was far gentler than the usual granite-chewing drawl he saved for the Joes as he put them through their paces, but he quickly snapped to attention when he saw what Scarlett was doing to the monitors. "Don't move, now. Stop pullin' at—don't _do_ that, I said." At this last, he went as far as to seize her paws and thrust them away from the vines and stems she was tugging at. "Sit tight, Red. I'll get Top—Doc," he corrected himself quickly, ears reddening. "Don't pull at that stuff, OK? Wait here."

Beach Head pointed a commanding finger at Timber. "Keep an eye on 'er, Timber. Make sure she don't run for the exit."

Timber was sure that Scarlett was not going to be able to run anywhere with the burden of the tube, but he sat up straighter, treating this reiteration of his assignment from the Master with the severity due it. Sure enough, when the green-faced Joe jogged off in search of the healers, Scarlett allowed herself to sink back down against her pillows in exhaustion. She looked so upset that Timber decided the No Jumping rule could be broken finally, especially since she had ripped so many of the constricting vines away from herself. Knowing he could not leap the metal guardrail without hurting her, he elected instead to carefully ascend at the foot of the bed. Scarlett seemed to realize his intent, adjusting her own position to make room for him to join her.

It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but Timber was eventually able to lay down in his red-furred Joe's arms, eyes closing happily as she stroked his ears, rubbing the point between her thumb and forefinger just the way he liked it.

* * *

><p>Normally, Lifeline wasn't a huge coffee drinker, despite having to keep odd hours as part of the Pit's medical staff. The way he saw it, there were plenty of things in the world that were going to rev up his heart rate without the assistance of natural accelerants. However, between Scarlett's accident and the parade of greenshirts trooping in and out of his sick bay, he'd needed a bit of a boost. Now he allowed himself one peaceful moment to breathe in the scent of a freshly brewed cup.<p>

Which proved to be a mistake a few seconds later when it ended up all over his uniform.

He had just turned to walk towards the sick bay when Beach Head came barreling into the commissary at a speed he usually reserved for outpacing any smart-assed greenshirts who dared to challenge him on the o-course. Having already collided with Lifeline once in the past twenty-four hours, Beach Head managed at least not to run straight into the medic, but his impressive physical prowess and his love of intimidating his trainees made it habit for him to stop a hairsbreadth from his intended target. Lifeline's nerves weren't quite that steely, and he ended up trying to hold the coffee cup at a safe distance, loosening his grip on it in his surprise and trying to recover it in a rather hilarious juggling motion before losing it once and for all. He grit his teeth at the feel of the hot coffee soaking through his uniform and tried not to yell, even as he thought that there was something about Beach Head's unexpected approach that was slightly…off.

Beach Head, true to character, had no apology for the accident he'd caused and in fact seemed not to notice it at all. Not even out of breath, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder, presumably in the direction of the sick bay Lifeline had had every intention of heading towards before he was interrupted. "You'll wanna get back to the bay, double time, Lifeline. Red's up."

This announcement was enough to make Lifeline forget the brief irritation of the coffee burns and raise his brows in pleased surprise. "When?"

"Jes' now," Beach Head confirmed. "Far's I know, anyway. Timber's in there makin' a racket and she's fixin' to get them wires off'er, so you might wanna get in there before she flies the coop."

Lifeline couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. That sounded more like the Scarlett he knew. "Not on my watch, she won't. Good old Timber—he may be a wolf, but he's still a hell of a watchdog. I'll go right now."

Beach Head dunked his head in an exaggerated nod. "Think I'll stay outta your way. There's gonna be a parade of Joes in an' outta there once they know she's awake."

Lifeline nodded in acknowledgment, adding, "You're right. Keep this under wraps until we've checked her out, Beach. I won't have her strained. She'll still need a lot of rest."

"Roger that." Beach Head swung around to exit the commissary, his mission complete. It was just as he'd sauntered past the door that Lifeline was able to put a finger on what had been bothering him about the drill sergeant, and he fought a smile as he gave voice to it now.

"Say, Beach—wasn't your ankle badly sprained just yesterday? It sure seems fine now."

The medic was treated to the rare sight of the drill sergeant's ears pinkening and the completely common sound of a muttered obscenity as Beach Head beat an undignified and hasty retreat.

* * *

><p>As a child, Shana O'Hara had had a favorite stuffed toy. It had not, contrary to tradition, been a teddy bear; while she did not remember it, her father and brothers all told the same story about a family trip to the zoo in which a three-year-old Shana had toddled over to a toy shelf in the gift shop and wrapped her arms around a large, plush cheetah. Patrick O'Hara, not being able to deny his youngest anything that put such a big smile on her face, had gladly purchased the toy, despite it being longer than she was tall. Shana's brothers, who were not above spoiling her themselves, had been quite patient with "Fiona", even dragging a chair over from an adjacent empty table at an outdoor café so the cheetah could sit down with them at lunch. Baby Shana had grown, eventually, to be taller than Fiona was long, instead of the other way around, but up through her teenage years she would flop down onto her back on her bed, the cheetah lying on her stomach, heavy, warm and comforting. When boys had torn at her heart, when girls had misunderstood her, when she was reminded randomly that her mother was never coming back, Fiona had seemed to hug Shana back, taking her shaking, the plush fur soft as it wiped away tears.<p>

Fiona was still somewhere in her father's house, and the last time Scarlett had been home, it had crossed her mind that her eldest brother's wife was expecting and perhaps a new little lass might like a cheetah to give her a hug that was longer than she was tall, but she'd felt a pang remembering the animal comfort of hugging a stuffed toy to her chest when the world was big and scary, when she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. When she remembered that sometimes they _don't_ come back…

"_No, Scarlett, wait, __**don't**__—"_

"_You've got to get up, Scarlett. Everyone's waiting…"_

"_**Come**__ on, Shana. Come on, honey, open your eyes…Come back…Scarlett, come back."_

Everything hurt—everything; her limbs felt leaden and her eyes burned. Something thick and alien was in her throat and the world tasted of plastic. Her chest and abdomen were tight and sore, as though she really had swallowed too much water. Breathing hurt too, but she was so relieved to be able to after the nightmare feeling of not enough air that she continued. Carefully, she glanced around, becoming aware of a pressure on her forefinger. Squinting at the plastic claw clamped over her fingertip with a wire attached to it, she pulled, wincing at the pinch until it relinquished her finger with a sharp snap. She scrubbed at her face with her hands and her fingers met plastic sticking out of her mouth, her teeth biting down on it simultaneously.

Squeezing her eyes shut, a whimper trickled from her bruised throat. _What happened to me?_

Closing her eyes, she fought to control her breathing, which had accelerated to a panicky, painful wheeze. She remembered the fire, and the debriefing, and then very little else. She reached out, blindly, her chest tight with the urge to panic, to scream, and nowhere to put the too-big feeling—and then her arms were full of warm, soft fur, just like when she was little. Not Fiona; but no, this was the very best toy, warm and alive, a heart pounding near hers and a rough tongue lapping at her face, trying desperately to soothe her.

Timber.

Scarlett's arms constricted around the wolf, fingertips seeking his ear the way she knew he liked her to pet him, and he happily nosed at her ear and whined eagerly at her attention. Yes—

—this was Timber—

—she was _home_.

The realization made the last of Scarlett's adrenaline ebb away; she relaxed back onto the scratchy sheets of the sick bay cot—yes, this was sick bay, someone was hurt, _she_ was hurt, everything hurt—and squeezed Timber as tight as she dared, and if a few fugitive tears dampened his fur, the wolf didn't seem to mind and kept them secret.

* * *

><p>Heavy was the head that wore the crown, and General Hawk was particularly sensitive to his own crown's weight lately.<p>

Despite his experience leading troops, the G.I. Joe team was a special circumstance, and the more time he spent in command of his soldiers, the more attached he became to them. Even he could admit it was becoming harder and harder to treat them like his employees and not like his family.

Right now, he felt like a shitheel—a deadbeat dad with one daughter sick in bed, another daughter forced to take on the work her sister had left undone, and a son-in-law with shadows so deep under his eyes he looked like the quarterback he'd once been.

Despite all that, he had no doubt that Lady Jaye and Duke would do today's tasks to the best of their ability; that was why he'd chosen them for his team and why he trusted them daily with the work no team but this one could do.

Still, he hated seeing them look so troubled, and Duke especially had already expressed his displeasure at the uncomfortable interview they were about to conduct. Hawk watched them now from behind a two-way mirror, ready to intervene if the questioning went awry. He didn't love sending his Joes ahead of him into unknown territory, but Domestic Intelligence had provided quite a few reports of psychics flipping chairs and tables without even touching them, and he wanted to be at a safe distance, the better to jump in if his Joes were unable to help themselves. No sense in everyone getting pinned down.

It occurred to the general that his pity was all for his own "children", and not for the actual child seated across the table from Duke and Lady Jaye, who surely deserved it as well. The boy, barely a teenager, looked as though he had been raised on fish food. Red-rimmed, watery gray eyes scanned the room like nervous radar. His fine hair was a light fawn color, and his skin was so pale beneath it there were blue patches under his eyes. His thin fingers pushed up the sleeve of his blue button-down to scratch at his skin. His blink rate was rapid; he looked at the Joes as though they were his jailers instead of his hosts. Did he think he was in trouble? Did he think the Joes were his enemies?

Or was this just the stress that came from the weight of his own crown—the burden of the power that the Joes were sure rested inside his head?

Duke smiled encouragingly at the young man, and while he looked exhausted, it was still the expression of everyone's big brother, the all-American boy scout. "What's your name, champ?"

The kid still looked mistrustful, but he answered slowly, "Keith."

"How about a soda, Keith?"

Another rapid blink, as though the boy was surprised and pleased by the offer but had caught himself before accepting too eagerly. "I...I guess that would be OK."

Duke's smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a friendly way. "You got it. Two Yo Joe Colas, coming up. I'll join you, if you don't mind. Stuff tastes like ass, but we get it for free." He winked, and it produced the desired effect—Keith's shoulders relaxed just the slightest bit, a smile threatening his thin lips at the sound of the master sergeant's brotherly vernacular. "Right, Lady Jaye?"

Jaye fielded Duke's fly effortlessly. "Yeah, and we can redeem the codes on the cans for points. Shipwreck got a beach chair once. Why don't I go down the hall and get us all some?"

"Sounds good, Jaye, thanks." Duke clapped the corporal on the shoulder as a send-off, and Jaye pushed her chair back from the table and left the room to fetch the drinks.

Duke leaned back a little in his chair, reaching for the stack of playing cards that lay on the table at his elbow. Shuffling them idly, he said, "Look, Keith, I understand if you're nervous. I don't want to be here any more than you do."

That, Hawk believed. Ever since the debrief regarding the street crime detail and its subsequent effect on Duke's mood, he was getting an increasingly strong feeling that the only place Duke wanted to be right now was in sick bay, at Scarlett's side. And if that was true, protocol dictated that the place Duke _belonged_ was in a court-martial getting his career shoved up his ass for fraternization, with Scarlett waiting outside for her turn, but having heard the wounded tone with which the master sergeant spoke about the redhead, seeing his eyes bruised with sorrow...Hawk told himself to cross that bridge when they came to it.

"I promise, this is a safe place," Duke continued. "You're not going to get in trouble for anything you tell us in here. O.K.? We're just going to ask you some questions, and whatever the answers are, they'll be the right ones. All right?"

Keith's eyes flicked back and forth, the mistrust and paranoia still bright in them, but he eventually nodded. "O.K. I'll try. I'll try," he said, his head bobbing with the force of the courage he was dredging up.

"That's a good soldier," Duke said encouragingly, and the boy brightened at the praise. "Good man. Let's get to it." Stopping his shuffle, Duke placed the cards in front of him, facedown, and took one in his fingers, ready to flip it over.

"O.K.," Duke said cheerfully. "I'm going to look at a card. I'm going to concentrate really hard on it, and you tell me what it is. Easy. Right?" The boy nodded absently, radar eyes on Duke's hands rather than his face.

Duke lifted the card so only he could read it, then glanced at Keith.

"Club," the boy said immediately. "Black club. Four. Four of clubs."

Duke tilted the card to the side for Hawk's benefit, and through the two-way mirror Hawk saw the four of clubs. The general smiled a little. It appeared their work might be about to pay off, but one guess didn't prove anything. They'd have to keep going.

Duke flipped another card. Stared at it.

"Black," Keith chirped quickly, as if it were automatic. "Nine. Nine of...spades."

Duke tilted the card again, showing the nine of spades to Hawk. He placed the card face-up on top of the previously discarded four of clubs, and took the next card in his fingers, ready to continue—but Keith interrupted.

"Spade," the boy blurted out. "Spades to dig out the earth. Down deep, deep. In the dark. Don't put her down there." His voice rose and thinned with panic as he repeated, "Don't put her _down_ there!"

Now it was Duke's blink rate that was rapid; he tensed at the table, the next card still in his hand. "What?"

Keith was visibly trying to calm himself, gulping air as he tried to catch his breath. He shook his head, once, twice, like a swimmer coming out of deep water.

Duke dropped the card he held, bracing both hands on the table in preparation to push to his feet. "Keith? What's wrong, buddy? Do you want to stop?"

The kid blinked. Shook himself again. "I'm sorry," he blurted, looked towards the door, but not as though he wanted to leave; it seemed to Hawk that he was _listening_ for something, body alert, his eyes scanning the empty air near the ceiling as though it would reveal a secret to him. Apparently not finding it, he slumped back into his chair, looking suddenly tired.

"Sometimes that happens," he said dully. "I get...I pick stuff up. Stuff that passes by. Or stuff that rises."

Duke's brow furrowed along with Hawk's own, in two separate rooms. "Rises?" Duke asked for both of them.

"It...floats," Keith said, spreading his thin hands helplessly as though frustrated with his own inability to explain the power inside him.

Duke leaned slightly over the table, the better to hear the boy's softening voice. "What floats, Keith?"

Keith sighed, the sound almost relieved as he unburdened himself. "The truth. The truth always rises to the top." He looked at Duke sadly. "I mean, that's why you want me, right? Because people lie to you guys, and you want me to 'listen' to them and find out the truth." He said _listen_ in a way that elevated it above the rest of his sentence, and Hawk was surer than ever that this kid was the real McCoy.

Duke attempted three times to respond, thinking better of whatever he was about to say each time and stopping himself before finally saying, "Maybe. I don't know what Domestic Intelligence wants you to help us with. My job today is to flip cards and ask you questions. I'm...I'm just trying to do my job."

Keith leaned back in his chair, considering the master sergeant carefully. "You're...like me...sort of."

Duke raised a blond brow. "Ah...no," he chuckled, almost nervously. "I don't know what anyone's thinking. And to be honest, I'm not so sure I'd want to."

Keith shook his head, his short, fine hair flicking with the movement. "I don't mean like that. I mean, sometimes you have to do what I do." He lifted a shoulder in a careless half-shrug. "Walk around like it's not there. What's inside."

Duke's expression had slid into an intensity that only Hawk knew well enough to recognize as alarm, but he kept his voice even as he said, "Just doing my job, Keith. I'm going to flip another card."

It took a few minutes this time for Keith to compose himself, his head lowered as though he were listening to voices only he could hear, then nodded and said, "Two of spades."

It continued, and both Duke and Keith seemed to calm as the boy rattled off the cards, Duke tilting them towards the two-way mirror to show Hawk that Keith guessed correctly every time.

"Joker!" Keith laughed, sitting back in his chair and drumming his hands on the table in childlike delight. Duke's eyes were still haunted from the boy's earlier remarks, and he looked at Keith like the sun had come out after a sudden cloudburst. But to his credit, he did smile back.

"Three of diamonds," Keith said, and then that look crossed his face one more time, his eyes blank as that otherness came over him again. His head swung low, as if the bones in his neck had suddenly disappeared. "Diamonds. I'll make this worth it. I'll be worth it...and someday I'll give her a diamond..."

This time Hawk wasn't so eager to ignore the erratic statement, but he was an entire room away, and Duke was already rushing to flip the next card, dropping the three of diamonds carelessly next to the pile. "All I need to know is what's on the card, Keith. You can skip the color commentary, O.K.?" The master sergeant laughed, and the sound was frightening—nervous and brittle.

Keith was breathing hard now, wheezing as he raised his head slowly. His lashes fluttered, eyes rolled back so far that even from beyond the two-way mirror all Hawk could see was the whites.

Or were his _eyes_ white? Joseph H. Colton Christ, that wasn't possible, was it?...

"Keith?" Duke asked in concern. "Keith?"

A rattling breath from the boy, and then—

"Red..."

He squinted those empty eyes, shook his head, tried again.

"Red..._hair_?"

Duke's eyes opened wide and his hand constricted reflexively, crushing the card he held in his hand.

Keith's head dropped back slightly, those blank eyes raised to the ceiling as he inhaled deeply, a creature of power. "No," he wheezed. _"Heart_, a red heart...a_..._" The boy snapped to attention suddenly and gasped, clutching at his chest, his shirt wrinkling under the force of his own grip. "—_bleeding_!...Bleeding heart!"

Duke dropped the crumpled card and got up quickly, circling the table to examine the boy more closely. "Keith? What's wrong?" he barked in concern. "What's happening?"

The master sergeant placed a hand on Keith's shoulder in an apparent attempt to steady him, but it had the exact opposite effect—the young psychic recoiled from the touch as though it had burned, an ugly screech spilling from now-bloodless lips.

"You promised!" he shrieked. "You promised me you wouldn't hurt me!"

The door swung open and Lady Jaye raced in, dropping her armful of cola cans. One burst open when it hit the floor, spraying carbonated soda all over the tile with a hiss. The others rolled harmlessly aside, one beneath Duke's abandoned chair, one back into the hall.

"What's going on?" Jaye yelled. "What happened?"

Duke held his hands out warily, as if to show the boy he was unarmed. "Keith, we never intended to hurt you. I told you this was a safe place, and it is. We can stop. We'll stop, O.K.? Try to settle down, champ."

But those blank white eyes fixed angrily on a middle distance, spittle flying from his mouth as he howled his accusations. "Didn't I keep my promise? Didn't I show you?"

"Yes," Duke said evenly, orbiting closer to the kid as if he were riot squad, ready to pull a jumper from a ledge. "You showed us, Keith. You did everything right."

"I _tried_," he roared, striding forward, right into Duke's outstretched hands. "All I ever wanted was to do right by you! I'll give you diamonds! I'll do anything!"

Duke had clearly not expected Keith to advance on him, and as such he was unable to stop the boy from seizing his uniform shirt. Lady Jaye circled her arms around Keith's waist in an attempt to pull him away, but the young psychic's trance gave him the strength to drag the corporal along with him as he stepped into Duke.

Grasping the kid's shoulders, Duke held him at arms' length carefully, spinning him in an attempt to guide him back to his chair. "Keith! Wake up! You don't have to do this. It's all right. Wake up!"

"_Please_ wake up," Keith parroted, the words beginning as a mewl and ending as an ear-shattering, desperate roar as he pleaded with the ghosts in his head and pawed at the lapels of the master sergeant's uniform shirt. "Come back. Come back to me, please, I _love_ you—!"

The blood drained from Duke's face and he abandoned his attempts to sit Keith down or even to calm him; the master sergeant's hands turned palm outward towards the hysterical teen—to push at him.

"Stop," Duke whispered hoarsely, his eyes wide with panic. "Stop that!"

"You've got my heart," Keith continued on a sobbing breath, hooking clawed hands into Duke's shirt. "Don't you know you've always had my heart?"

"Stop it," the master sergeant hissed, more forcefully this time. "Be quiet!"

"I love you," Keith moaned, and just like that he collapsed bonelessly against Duke, almost knocking the master sergeant to the floor as he became dead weight. "Don't break my heart—you promised! Don't break my heart."

"_Stop_," Duke bleated, his own voice cracking. "Shut _up_, goddamnit! Stop!"

And with a complete and final loss of control, the master sergeant detached himself from Keith with a desperate, violent push, sending the now semi-conscious child cannoning back into Lady Jaye. The corporal caught the unexpected weight awkwardly, shambling around in a graceless half-circle as she tried to keep them both on their feet. "_Duke_," she yelled incredulously, steadying herself and cradling Keith against her shoulder. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

On the other side of the mirror, Hawk found himself staring at the back of Duke's blond head—the startled field commander had put his back against the wall, trying to get as much distance as possible between himself and Keith.

"Get him out of here," Duke ordered hoarsely, and Hawk could see the tension in his broad shoulders. "On the double."

"Duke—"

"That's an _order_, Corporal!" Duke roared, and emphasized his point with a violent gesture towards the door.

Lady Jaye's eyes were wide and dark, and she stepped back warily, as though her trusted field commander had revealed himself to have been Zartan in disguise. "I'm taking this kid to sick bay to get checked out," she said crisply.

"Fine with me," Duke snarled. "Take him to sick bay. Take him to the _moon_ for all I care, but get him out of my sight."

Jaye's eyes flickered mistrustfully at Duke's harsh tone, but she moved to obey, hoisting the boy up in a threshold carry easily—he might have been a feather pillow. "Roger. I wouldn't put him through any more of this anyway. I hope to hell you and Hawk got something useful out of—whatever just happened."

Duke did not answer, but when the door closed behind Lady Jaye, he tilted his head towards heaven and let his shoulders drop in the classic symptoms of exhausted relief, and Hawk thought with a heart as heavy as his crown that yes, this session had been very revealing, indeed.

Lady Jaye pushed her way through the interrogation room door and almost ran into Hawk in her haste to get the fallen boy to sick bay. "Sir—"

But the general waved a hand. "No need to explain, Lady Jaye. Carry on."

"Yes, sir." Jaye shifted her burden, and the psychic boy's head fell back against her shoulder, a whisper issuing from his bloodless lips.

"_Never_..."

Jaye tensed; Hawk took advantage of her pause to listen more closely. "What's that, son?"

"_Never get over you_," Keith said, the whisper seeming to echo and hiss in the corridor. "_Always...have my...heart._"

"What?" Lady Jaye asked, almost helplessly, but she didn't get any further—like a toy that had suddenly had its batteries recharged, Keith sprang to life once again, seizing the general's tie and hauling him close to hiss something against his ear that Lady Jaye didn't catch in her rush to keep her hold on the boy. Pulling away, she cradled his head against her breast and stepped back, turning his face away from Hawk. "Easy! Easy, now, Keith. It's over. I'm going to get you someplace you can rest."

"Get him down to sick bay," Hawk said in agreement.

Jaye nodded smartly. "General, please. Say you're not going any further with this project."

"That's up to Domestic Intelligence, Lady Jaye, and I can't imagine they'd want to halt something that's produced results as tangible as these," Hawk sighed. "But unofficially, I'm with you. I think I'd have been much happier not knowing what this young man's revealed to us today."

Jaye's doe-brown eyes shimmered sadly as she nodded once more before turning on her heel and carrying her charge to sick bay as fast as safety would allow. Hawk knew she had meant to incline her head in agreement, but he was sure she was unaware of his true meaning—he was positive she hadn't heard Keith's last tormented effort to unburden the secrets he held.

"_Never get over you...SHANA..._"

* * *

><p>Once Lady Jaye was gone, Hawk opened the door and walked into the interrogation room, but Duke remained leaning against the two-way mirror, one arm crossed over his chest, hand clasped around his opposite elbow, giving no sign that he noticed the general's presence. The master sergeant's ice-blue eyes were wide and shocky, staring into a middle distance as though his worst nightmare lay there.<p>

_He thrusts his fists against the posts_, Hawk thought whimsically, _and still insists he sees the ghosts_.

Slowly, as though he were dealing with a ledge jumper, Hawk bent a knee and picked up one of the cans of Yo Joe Cola that Lady Jaye had dropped in her haste to pull Keith away from Duke. Placing the can on the table, he bent to pick up the chair that Keith had knocked to the floor. Circling the table, he righted Duke's chair as well, then gestured to it. "Why don't you have a seat, Duke?"

Duke did not move, but his eyes flicked to the general warily.

"It's all right," Hawk pressed, and then, with a flash of inspiration, added, "Come on, son. Sit down a spell with the old man."

Even as he spoke, Hawk knew that this deliberate tactic was completely unfair, as well as being unkind. Duke was an honest man and never refused to answer a direct question, but Hawk had noticed (and admired) early on how strict he was about keeping his private life and professional life separate. It was for that reason more than any other that the general and his Joes had been surprised by his erratic behavior since the street crime detail—Duke was not a man who normally let his emotions bleed into his work.

But as the psychic teenager had said earlier, the truth always rose to the top...eventually.

However, the pressure point Hawk was purposely stabbing at had nothing to do with the secrets Keith had unearthed in his interrogation session; it was far older and never failed to work when he needed to capture the master sergeant's respect. Hawk had files on all his Joes, had acquainted himself with them as best he could before he ever saw their faces, and what he was thinking of now was a faded photograph tucked in a file folder, a smiling soldier, handsome in army greens, helping balance a miniature version of himself on a horse. The soldier's face could have been Duke's; the ripened-wheat shade of his hair was mirrored in the little boy who would grow up to be the G.I. Joes' field commander. Hawk had known immediately that the soldier was the "S" in "Conrad S. Hauser", that the foundation of Duke's command of foreign tongues had been laid in the years he and his mother had traveled from country to country with the smiling blond ghost. And the adoration in the little boy's eyes had been captured on film forever, giving Hawk the cruel weapon he needed in times as desperate as the ones they were in now, when he wanted—_needed_—Duke to speak freely and truthfully with his general. Conrad had thought Shane Hauser had hung the moon, and Hawk's drawing a parallel between himself and his protégé's deceased father, who had been killed when Duke was quite young, worked where nothing else might have. The master sergeant stepped haltingly towards the table, haunted gaze dropping to the stainless steel table top, not meeting Hawk's eyes.

The carbonated cola hissed as Hawk popped the tab on the can he'd picked up. Sliding it across to Duke, he said, "Here you go, kid," with a purposeful note of affection in his voice.

"No thank you," Duke said absently, still not looking at Hawk, but even as he refused the offer he was picking up the can and sipping automatically, Adam's apple working as he swallowed the cheap, overly-syrupy liquid. Usually, the initial reaction to a swig of Yo Joe Cola was a wrinkling of the nose, a squint and a shake of the head until one got used to the taste (except in the case of Shipwreck, who guzzled the stuff like it was being discontinued the next morning). But Duke's face remained as blank as a refrigerator door, a bleak January morning in his eyes.

"Listen to me, son," Hawk said gently. "You said it better than I ever could have—this is a safe place. I'm just going to ask you some questions, and whatever the answers are...they'll be the right ones. OK?"

Duke's gaze flicked up distrustfully at the sound of his own cajoling words turned on him, and Hawk was sure it wasn't lost on the sergeant that Hawk had _not_ told him he would not be punished for his answers, as he had told Keith. Still, he sat back almost resignedly, staring down at his half-empty soda can.

Hawk let him settle before starting with what he felt was the most obvious question. "How long?"

Duke just stared. "You'd have to be more specific, sir."

Hawk grit his teeth, trying to keep a lid on his frustration. "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, Duke, and in a matter like this you'll learn quickly that I'm the only one who's listening. I'm the best chance you've got, so don't screw with me, son. Now, _how long_, goddamnit?"

But Duke didn't seem to hear the chastisement in his general's voice. His wintry eyes grew distant. "For me? Right from the beginning."

Hawk had actually been fairly certain of that himself. None of the appreciative gazes that had rested on Scarlett had been lost on the general, even if he pretended not to notice as long as no lines were being crossed, but Duke's attentions to the redhead had always stood out—not for their bombast but rather for their subtlety. Hawk was well acquainted with the loud, rough-edged look of lust in a man's eyes, the piercing whistles and the dripping catcalls that followed a woman. But Duke's gaze on Scarlett had always been something fragile and bewildered, as if he himself couldn't make sense of his desire, or perhaps of his inability to conceal it entirely. Duke betrayed his affection for Scarlett with his respect for her brains, his concern for her bones, his awe of her strength. There had been a _sweetness_ to it—the blizzard in Duke's eyes turned instead to ice cream where Scarlett was concerned.

"And her?"

"You'd have to ask her, sir."

"Goddamnit, you know what I mean."

"She asked for my heart, sir. I couldn't give her something she already had."

Hawk shook his head. "You should have come to me."

A gate slammed down in Duke's eyes, his first flare of real feeling since they'd taken Keith out of the room. "And if I had? She'd be halfway around the world now, as far away from me as you could get her. There's only one thing in this world that's going to take her away from me, General, and it is a hell of a lot stronger than you are." His expression grew pained for a split second as his eyes snapped towards the door. "It's got claws in her right now, and I can't help her fight it, sir." He looked at his general sadly. "And if your intention is to scare me, you're too late. I'm already scared. I'm fucking terrified. I'm afraid for her stranded in that dark place, and I'm afraid for myself stranded here without her."

That, Hawk believed, and Duke's erratic behavior over the past week only served to confirm it.

Duke's gaze dropped back to the table. "You want my stripes? Take them. I can live without my stripes. I can't live without my heart, and she's got that, sir." Again, that long-ago bewilderment returned to his eyes, the awe of his goddess. "I couldn't..._can't_...help it."

Hawk sighed. "Even you're allowed a weakness, Duke."

The chair legs screamed as they scraped away from the table, the back of the chair slamming against the mirror as Duke rocketed to his feet, fists slamming on the table like twin hammers. "Don't _say_ that. Don't _ever_ say that."

Hawk was surprised, but quickly tried to assert authority. "Listen to me, Sergeant—"

"_Sir_," Duke roared, "_you_ need to listen to _me_."

Hawk glared at his field commander, equal parts livid and admiring of this incredible display of insubordination. He almost wished Scarlett was here to see her commander—her partner—standing solid as a rock and larger than life, eyes on fire as he prepared to take this bullet for her—for them both.

"You want to know how long? Longer than you think. And did you know about it? No. Did _any _of them? Even _he_ didn't know about it—not till after the fire. _He _asked, and I answered, and the answer hasn't changed just because you're the one asking now, sir. You think I'm weak right now, and you're probably right. _I_ know why I feel weak, sir—the question is, do _you_?"

For the first time, Hawk thought he might.

There was no mistaking who the _he_ in question was—and Hawk would have given just about anything to have been a fly on the wall during _that_ conversation—and this admission generated a new question: so Snake Eyes knew about this, even if he hadn't found out too much earlier than Hawk himself had. There was no way that Snake would allow a threat to Scarlett to continue to exist. Yet here they sat. Snake Eyes had not approached Hawk about this, nor had he betrayed any reaction other than the usual turmoil at Scarlett being injured, just as he always had.

Silence was the commando's trademark. But in this case, was it also his blessing?

"She is _not_ my weakness," Duke growled, leaning back against the two-way mirror, arms crossed over his chest in a clear indication that he would brook no argument on the subject. "She's the opposite."

Hawk almost laughed. The argument was completely valid. It was likely even true—Duke was absolutely correct that his mask had only slipped when Scarlett had been injured and kept from him, not before. Had she not been in danger, they'd have likely continued pulling the wool over the eyes of the entire unit. Hawk wasn't sure if he was impressed with or annoyed about that. Duke was sitting there insisting that a fraternization charge that would be the final nail in his coffin was instead his greatest strength, and that he was only unable to function because that strength had been torn from him.

The general felt that pang in his heart again, the heavy grief of a father watching his child suffer. His protégé—his _son_—was bleeding internally, walking around with a mortal wound that no one could see. And there was no way that the man would have chosen such struggle if it could have been avoided. Telling him to end this—to distance himself from his talisman of strength—seemed akin to asking him to sever his own head.

_I can follow the rules_, the general thought. _I can court-martial the both of them. Or separate them—keep him on here, to glare hatefully at me from the other side of war rooms and think tanks, send her underground to run intel, wither away in the dark like a flower without sunlight. I can break up one of the most effective partnerships I have in this unit, and betray the trust of two of my best soldiers, all in one shot._

_Or..._

Duke looked tired. "It's not my intention to be insubordinate, sir. When I do, I insult you and my position as your field commander." He shook his head. "But if I didn't, I'd be betraying _her_, and my position as her partner." The word _partner_, Hawk knew, meant far more to Duke than being the one who checked her chute for HALO or covered her six in a firefight—it meant kissing wounds and soothing away nightmares, standing strong for her here when all might be lost. "I...I can't do that to her, sir. I _won't_."

Duke finally seemed to slump a little, strong shoulders melting like he'd been left out in the sun. "I understand _your_ position, sir. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. But I won't blame you for doing the right thing."

_The right thing_.

Hawk looked at his second-in-command—his struggling, suffering son—and stood, motioning to the door that would let them out of this room so recently painted in pain and misery.

"I believe that I am, Conrad. Follow me."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

**Fiona the cheetah** does truly exist, and she is in this story as an homage to a friend without whom I wouldn't still be writing this darned thing. : )

"**Jarhead chicken":** It's evidenced in canon that Beach Head gets up before everyone for his morning run, then continues his PT sessions for the day. Duke can be seen running with him (with a full pack) in IDW _G.I. Joe #1_. But try as I might, I absolutely can't stay 100% serious while writing for these guys, hence the dumbbell and the bowling ball.

**Yo Joe Cola**, while definitely _sounding_ ridiculous enough to be something I made up, is actually mentioned in _G.I. Joe Special Missions #4_ (and possibly elsewhere; I've only seen it in the issue "Mexican Holiday").

**Keith the boy psychic** is a character that I already feel guilty for making up, because what kind of a monster am I to torment him that way? I am so sorry, Keith! And he is in fact not done telling secrets—he'll be back in chapter 11.

**Chapter 11**, by the way, wasn't supposed to exist. I thought this story could be contained in ten chapters. Nope! I'll be back (hopefully soon) with…well, whatever the Joes tell me happens next. : )


End file.
